


I Shall Not Want

by TheClicheInLife



Series: A Rook in the Hand [1]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-07-01 15:32:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 43,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15776946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheClicheInLife/pseuds/TheClicheInLife
Summary: The thought never even crossed her mind — the occurrence was rare. So rare that most people think it doesn’t exist. This link between soulmates. She remembers a few scattered articles from high school and college; back when it was a dream -- to find the one person who would understand her for all she was. The irony of it all was as Deputy Bridget Campion, curled in on herself, wishing for nothing more than sleep in her own bed, the last thing she wanted to hear was someone else’s voice in her head.Soulmate AU where soulmates have the ability to hear the other person’s thoughts.





	1. Prologue

A small office with four desks facing each other, and another at the front of the room, lit with too bright fluorescent lights comes into view, before panning over to Bridget Campion, in her newly pressed deputy sheriff uniform, “So. We’re wrapping up our day here in the office…” spinning around in her office chair, both Staci Pratt and Joey Hudson come into view, “And after a month of training and what seems like an eternity of paperwork I’m now officially a deputy of Sheriff Whitehorse.”

“We all live for small miracles, Campion.” Pratt leans further into the camera with a joking grin as Bridget pans the camera back to herself to watch her dramatically roll her eyes. “Stop whining, after all, you’re gonna drink for free tonight on us.” The three of them walk out of the offices and meet up with Whitehorse outside of the tiny office building, and pile into a 1980s station wagon.

With Joey in the backseat with her she looks over to see the camera still recording when she asks, “What I want to know is how you managed to get Jerome to give you such an excellent recommendation. Whitehorse got off the phone and immediately decided on you. I’ve never seen him make a decision so fast.”

The town passed by, as Whitehorse drove them to the Whistling Beaver’s attached bar, “I worked with a lot of at risk kids -- ones running from something or trying to get out of shitty situations.” She shrugged, “And a lot of times tense situations would come out of it, I honestly think Jerome was just glad to have someone who isn’t afraid to stare down adults in favor of protecting the kids who haven’t done anything wrong.”

Whitehorse just grunts from the front seat, “We need more people who aren’t afraid to stand up for what they believe in.” Turning down one of the many winding Montana roads, the sound of static radio stations can be picked up, with too old country music coming through the Sheriff’s stereo.

Pratt turns around and rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. I mean, being able to shoot a gun would be nice too -- but you know, we’ll just saddle you with all of the paperwork instead. I’m sure you’ll love that.” A pale middle finger appears on the video and both Staci and Joey can’t help but laugh; behind the phone there’s a bright red newly inducted deputy looking more than a little irritated at the ribbing.

Huffing, she looks directly at the camera, pointing as she speaks red faced and all, “For the record -- my scores were better than yours have been for the last five years, asshole.” The camera now turns after quickly being stolen by the woman sitting next to her, and the bright red face was on full display before quickly turning back to Staci who’s rolling his eyes at the camera.

“Beginner’s luck.” She scoffs, and Joey is trying her best not to absolutely lose it as the two deputy’s square off in the back of the Sheriff’s Winnebago. “Besides, you were so stiff, I thought that you were actually just one of those dummies who someone arranged in one of the stalls as a joke -- when you turned back to look at the sheriff I almost pissed myself I was so afraid that the dummies had come to life.” He laughed as she flipped him off again as they pulled into the parking lot of the Whistling Beaver Taphouse. Joey returns the phone to the newest deputy who quickly shuts if off.

“We’re here -- now, be nice kids.” The four law men -- and women, made their way to the front of the bar, but before entering the sheriff turned around and pointed a finger at all three of them, “The last thing we need is for two of my deputy’s to end up in a fist fight. So don’t do anything stupid.”

“No promises there, Sheriff,” Staci wanders over and wraps an arm around Bridget’s shoulder, the three deputy’s know that the evening has been for fun, and there weren’t any grudges held, “she seems like the type to start bar brawls.”

She dips out of his arm as they enter the bar, “Oh? And why is that?” With beers and appetizers ordered the four of them sit comfortably down at the bar, smashing peanuts open along the almost empty bar.

“In the little time we’ve gotten to know you here there are two sparkling parts of your personality that have stuck out: you’re short and angry.” It’s matter of fact, and the smug look on Staci’s face says it all as both Joey and the sheriff bark out a laugh and Staci leans back in his chair, grin wide as he eyes her reaction, egging her on to make a scene -- possibly to record, but mostly just to entertain himself.

“I mean….” As their beers arrive, Bridget pauses for a moment before seeming to concede with herself and grabbing her beer she sighs, “You’re not wrong.” Taking a long drink from her beer she can hear Staci laughing to himself -- obviously expecting her to have put up more of a fight, but to be honest, of all the things he could have said, she isn’t sure he could have found anything more true to say.

 

* * *

 

By the end of the night, the three Deputy’s certainly had their fill of alcohol -- arguments had turned into fits of laughter as the four of them told various stories; on the job tales and the many adventures of arresting Sharky Bowshaw, (who Bridget now saw as a mixture of Stitch from the titular Disney film and Junkrat from Overwatch -- and she couldn’t help but think to herself that she hoped not to meet the man at any point in the near future) to bar brawls that may have been her fault, not that anyone could ever prove it. As Will Moore entered the bar he couldn’t help but smile at the four members of law enforcement sitting at the bar. “I got a text about a half hour ago about picking up a drunk girlfriend?”

“That’s definitely me!” There’s a laugh as Bridget pulls herself up from the bar -- not drunk but definitely well on her way to being there if she wasn’t mindful of work tomorrow; and well, the sheriff hanging right behind her, eyeing her like an anxious father. Taking a deep breath she takes measured steps, hyper aware of just how much her limbs are moving and attempting to make herself seem less tipsy than she actually was that by the time she reached Will and wrapped arms around his waist, the remnants of the bar were trying not to laugh at just how foolish she had made herself look.

“You haven’t been this drunk since the Rye’s Summer Barbeque --” He looked her up and down, there was concern on his features that morphed into a genuine smile, realizing that she was indeed alright, and she couldn’t help but return it, “I’m assuming you had a good time?”

“I’m not drunk.” She accentuated the last syllable before poking him in the ribs, “Just extremely tipsy.” He batted her fingers away and she couldn’t help but laugh, “It was fun -- especially when Pratt found out that I bodied two guys and threw them out on the street in Missoula after drugging a girl’s drink.”

“She didn’t cause you any grief did she, sheriff?” He snorted and shook his head before turning to the sheriff who seemed to be taking the entire evening in stride, bless him, he really should have retired when he had the chance.

“No more than usual -- but Will, make sure she gets to bed. We’re heading up to Missoula tomorrow for a debriefing and then again on Friday.” He seemed more concerned than usual -- it wasn’t often that he was dragged out of Hope County on official business unless someone kicked the hornet’s nest around here, “Some Marshall’s got a bug up his ass about an arrest warrant for someone here in Hope County and wants us to assist on.”

“I just hope to shit it isn’t Boshaw again.” Joey groaned as her head hit the bar, the last time they had gone to arrest him he left a box of firecrakers and what they hoped was bear shit in a box on the road in front of his house -- they decided against the arrest that day, “He has such a flair for the dramatics.”

Staci nodded into his beer, seemingly caught in the same recollection, “That’s for damn sure.”

“Don’t worry sheriff, I’ll be fine.” Waving a the two of them meandered out of the barroom she turned around to face the three officers still sitting there, “There’s at least sixty ounces of water waiting for me before bed.” She groaned as the made their way outside, the cold summer air hitting her alcohol warmed face, “ _I can’t wait._ ”

Will laughed as he tugged his _not-drunk_ girlfriend out to the beat up truck with _Palmer & Moore Contractors_ painted on the faded doors. “So. Do you regret it yet?” Opening the door he helped her inside and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips before heading over to the driver’s side and starting the ignition.

“Mhm. I’m undecided.” She laughs as he rolls his eyes as she turns to watch as street lights fade into the black wilderness her eyes just sort of dancing across the countryside, “It’s been a couple months now, but I’ve just done paperwork and the occasional target practice.” Sighing she sinks down into the seat, “I guess this week will be the true test.”

Grabbing her hand, he runs his thumb across the top, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the end, this is going to be the slowest slow burn that you've ever read. BUT. My plans are going to be to publish on Tuesdays. So the introductory phase of this is going to be slow, but I promise we'll get to some interesting things.... Eventually.


	2. Chapter One: Whispers

_Sometimes the best thing to do, is to walk away._

The words rang loudly in her ears as the pounding headache that refused to abate since Bridget found herself in Dutch’s bunker after the crash. Crashes. She corrected herself. Not only did the fucking helicopter crash, but the goddamn marshall crashed the truck that they had borrowed. Yeah. Borrowed. Good fucking luck getting it back from the bottom of the Henbane.

_“Well, you sure as shit kicked.”_

Dutch had walked into a different part of the bunker a while ago -- it was hard not to know him, not after all the shit he kicked up with the local government officials. Collecting rainwater. That’s all it took out here to piss in somebody’s coffee. Sure, the Marshall may have incited all out rebellion and what little (read: only occasional murder and with payrolled police, so maybe _slightly_ tense) peace existed in the valley beforehand was gone, but he had done his share of shit kicking too. Besides, the Project was a fucking pot just waiting to boil over, this was just the excuse that Joseph Seed had been looking for.

She looked through the clothes that Dutch had left, worn but well-made. Definitely old. The sort of flannel she loved to wear. To look down at the ground and see the almost-new sheriff’s deputy uniform she wore, scorched and torn with blood in the seams it was hard not to see it as foreboding. Walking out she found a shortwave radio with a message on repeat from Mary May, _“Eden’s Gate won’t take us alive.”_ The words made her stomach sink -- she needed to get home. To make sure that the Rye’s were alright and that the kids from the church were safe with Pastor Jerome. She had to find Will… Her stomach dropped -- those three won’t let anything happen to that town, not while they were breathing. Anxiety bubbled up in her chest -- there was too much at stake for her to be sitting here mourning a uniform.

The room was red and covered in a surprising (that was a lie, living here for three years, she knew just how paranoid people could get out here and ironically, she can’t fucking blame them -- especially after all the shit that the Peggies have done in the last year.) amount of intelligence, pausing for only moment she cuts him off before he can begin, “I’ve got to get home.”

Dutch freezes for a moment and looks her in the eye and obviously sees the fear and panic there and slowly walks over and gently places his hands on her shoulders, she felt like a wounded animal, “I know you’re worried -- we all have people in this mess, but runnin’ in without knowing the extent of what’s going on is going to get you killed.”

“You heard Mary May’s message -- what if,” her voice fades as tears choke her throat, “what if they’re dead or taken or…” He cuts her off by pulling her into probably the most uncomfortable hug in her life, and after a moment of hesitation he pulls away and puts a radio in her right hand instead and a backpack in the other.

“Kid. We’ll get there. I promise. But first, we gotta secure this island and see if we can’t get a signal out to the people who need us. Look, there’s a gun and a map in the safe go out and see what you can find.” She walked over, working at reeling in everything she was feeling and picked up the materials and started to make her way out of the bunker, “Ki-Bridget.” She turned, fingers fiddling with the radio now clicked to the belt of her newly acquired pants, “You’re no good to anyone dead. Be safe and we’ll fix this shit yet.”

 

* * *

 

“For the record, Dutch --” Hand clenched tightly around the handheld with her other white knuckling a bar of the radio tower while waiting for wind gusts to die down, “I fucking hate heights. So the next time that someone needs a fucking tower climbed get someone else.” She could hear him laugh over the radio before mumbling to herself before climbing the rest of the way up to the top of the tower. “So. I just need to flip this switch? Really? Fucking Peggies can’t do anything right.”

“Would you have rathered them blow the whole thing to hell?” Dutch’s voice was dry as she used the zip line to return to her newest acquaintance Fred Ambrose whom she saved from the docks a few hours ago, “anyway, if you give it ten minutes or so the fog should break and we can get you off this island and back to Fall’s End to see if we can’t get a handle of this situation. In the bag, there’s also a handheld GPS unit -- it should load now, at least a bare minimum so that you can get a view of the county.”

She hummed and searched through the thoughtfully packed bag, it made Bridget’s heart sink thinking that these were most certainly bags packed for his family and the letters she had come across while meandering through the bunker. Pulling out the handheld GPS she turned it on and slipped it into her pocket, knowing the general direction of Fall’s End from her weekend hikes through the countryside. “I don’t recognize you from around Fall’s End -- you from the Valley?”

“Yeah, had a little farm right at the edge of the mountains -- I was planning a fishing trip this weekend up to the Whitetails and then shit broke loose and the fucking Peggies caught me as I was heading to the docks.” By the time they reached the road the sun was past its peak and the sinking feeling in her gut returned -- the idea of trying to assess Fall’s End at night wasn’t something she wanted to attempt. Seeming to sense her distress Fred ended up looking over and decided to put her out of her thoughts, “So, I take it you’re from Fall’s End?”

“Yeah, I moved here… four-ish years ago? Worked as an administrator for Hope County’s records for a couple of years -- and a youth minister; my house was sort of a revolving door of teenagers wanting to get away from their parents or abusive relationships, somehow ended up a sheriff’s deputy at the insistence of the people around me. Good moral fiber and all that, apparently.” The tree cover grew thinner as they came to a couple of bridges at the edge of the river, motioning him to follow they head over into the Valley, “Have you heard of the haunted shack that’s out of the city limits?”

“The one that’s right by the forests?” She nodded, noticing the group of Peggies up ahead, seeming to have created a roadblock at the end of the bridge, Fred’s voice was a whisper now as they attempted to clear the roadblock with as little noise as possible -- the fewer people who knew the two of them were here -- the better, “The one that the supposed axe murderer owned?”

Bridget couldn’t help but laugh at how incredulous his voice sounded, “Well, that wasn’t exactly brought up by the realtor; but sure. That would also fucking explain why the place was so cheap...” Making their way over to the white painted truck she slapped a hand against the hood of the car, “So… How do we feel about grand theft auto?” The two of them seemed to be in agreement -- that yes, stealing a car is bad, but stealing a car from a group of murderous doomsday cultists was slightly _less bad_ , “...can I, uh, request that you drive?”

Heading off down the road with Bridget in the passenger seat, she jumped as her radio crackled to life, “Hey Deputy, I know that you’re anxious to get to Fall’s End, but can I have you check on RaeRae and Boomer -- I’ve started getting a pre-recorded transmission from her, and it doesn’t…” his voice faded off and for a moment, Bridget was afraid that the signal had died again, “It doesn’t sound good.” Dutch tried and failed to hide the concern in his voice -- everyone in Hope County knew about Boomer and it would unfortunately make sense that the Cult would want to get their hands on him. Hopefully, his family didn’t get caught in the crossfire.

“Yeah, of course.” Pulling the handheld GPS out of her pocket she fiddled with the controls -- seeing if she could locate the Pumpkin Farm, to give her driver the appropriate directions, taking a deep breath she contacts Dutch again, “...I’m sure she’s fine Dutch.”

Arriving at the pumpkin farm, Bridget can say, without a doubt that she was not expecting the carnage that she found as she exited the car, “Oh my god.” There were Peggies standing over dead bodies -- it looks like they had just come outside only to be shot down, while reaching for each other. There didn’t see to be a body of a dog though and there were cages, so it felt safe to assume that Boomer was in one of them. Bridget, taking the side of the house and Fred behind the truck, the two dispatched the small group of Peggies that stood guard in front of of one of the cages. Pulling her radio out, she takes a deep breath before calling it in, “Dutch, I’m so sorry.” She continued walking over to find Boomer locked in one of the cages, finding a paper she skims it to see that they were planning on sending the dog to Jacob Seed for what seemed to be some sort of testing… or experimentation, the thought made her already volatile stomach churn even more. “Boomer’s alright though--” picking the lock to the cage she’s greeted by an overly excited dog who launches her into the ground and she lets loose a laugh, “more than alright, we’ll be sure to take him with us and keep him safe, Dutch.”

An unspoken, _unlike the rest of the people here_ hung in the air. The two of them deserved better than this, she searched aimlessly for a shovel, and came up empty, Dutch seemed to sense the silence and broke in, “Shit.” She could hear Dutch take a shaky breath over the radio, “Look, kid. What happened here isn’t your fault -- you gotta remember that, no matter what you see. You’re doing your best to fix this situation, don’t focus on the shit that’s gone wrong otherwise you’re gonna put yourself in the ground worrying about it.” Taking a shaking breath she nods and heads back to the truck that she and Fred had commandeered, helping Boomer into the bed of the truck the three of them headed off towards Fall’s End, “Losing Rae-Rae that one hits hard, fucking Seed family. But I’m glad you rescued old Boomer, he’ll watch your back better than you can believe.”

“Don’t worry Dutch, he’ll be safe with us.” Bridget could feel her stomach churn as they came closer to Fall’s End, “Look, Fred. I appreciate the help but I don’t wanna drag you along against your will -- I know everyone’s got family around here, and most try to keep to their own so if you want to split and go your own way, I’ll understand.” It was all rushed and by the time she finished, Bridget was out of breath. And all Fred could do was laugh.

“Deputy; you saved my ass, the least I can do is help you get Fall’s End back under control --” He looked over at her, with a smile, and in that moment she realized how much she appreciated him -- that he kept her out of her head through the whole mess that the day had turned into, “I’ll split then to go check on my family, but if you ever need, I’m here to help. I just wanna get our town back in order, and if you’re the person to do it, I’ll follow you, the whole way. You just gotta call for me over the radio and I’ll be there.” He pulled over outside of the city limits of Fall’s End, and Bridget didn’t even reason that her leg was bouncing until she took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down, _it was going to be okay. She was sure of it._

  
**[NEW COLLECTIBLE DISCOVERED]** _In the pocket of Deputy Bridget Campion’s uniform there’s a flash drive -- curious, Dutch couldn’t help but want to know what could possibly be inside._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Hello and welcome to what will be the tropiest and angstiest slow burn I hope you will ever have the pleasure of reading. I'm your captain. Who also loves exposition. So the chapters that have the lovely little [NEW Collectible Discovered] thing will lead you to another fic, COMPLETELY OPTIONAL, that was originally my four thousand word prologue chapter that I was convinced to chop into tiny more digestible pieces so we can get along with the plot, so check it out, if you want to see what Hope County looked like before everything went absolutely crazy.


	3. This is Gospel

Dust kicked up as the wind blew through the center of Fall’s End, as Bridget climbed up one of the tree stands at the outskirts of the city. Feet hanging off the edge of the tree stand she rooted through the bag, looking for a pair of binoculars that Dutch had assured her were in there. Pulling out her radio she took a breath, “So. Dutch. It looks like there’s at least a dozen Peggies in the town, possibly more, there are a few buildings I can’t see into, and they’d be perfect places for an ambush.” She panned across the town, “I can’t see Mary-May or the Pastor…” or Will. “I’m betting the kids and elderly were ushered into the basement of the church,” She finds the back of the church, where it looks like two Peggies were trying to open the basement door. “There’s definitely something in the church.”

“Shit kid, looks like you’ll have your hands full.” His exhale crackled across the radio as Bridget and Fred slid back down the ladder from the tree stand, she patted Boomer on the head as the three of them wandered through the tall grass to the edge of the town, trying their best to keep out of eyesight of the known Peggies, “Take your time, and keep your head down. Don’t do anything fucking stupid, you’re just getting started on this resistance now.”

Reaching the back of the Spread Eagle she clicked on the radio once more, “Don’t worry, you’ve officially convinced me to take up this crusade.” He chuckled over the radio, Bridget took a deep shaking breath, “Going radio silent now, I’ll call you back once we get Fall’s End out of Peggie control.” Sitting behind the bar, Bridget looked over at Fred and let out another strangled breath, “You sure about this? I won’t hold it against you if you bail on me here -- you’ve got family, you could go and get them and get the fuck out of here before shit hits the fan.”

“No, ma’am. I think you’re stuck with me.” She smiles and nods, “I’ll work the bar, you head over the church and make sure those kids are safe and take Boomer with you. I’ll work a distraction, maybe use some of that dynamite to startle the Peggies enough to get them away from the church.” She nodded, grasping her shotgun she and Boomer headed off, and at the sound of explosions Bridget and Boomer bolted to the back of the church, Boomer was on the first before they had a chance to react to the explosions, her hands, working seemingly of their own accord used the aluminum baseball bat to take down the other before he could alert the other members in the town.

Adrenaline running high Bridget drops the bat and jumps over the fences, heading back towards the main drag, and catches the Peggies now turned towards the exploding cars by the general store, taking care to get the snipers first and then those attempting to climb the ladders. Seeing Mary-May tied at the front of the bar under the porch Bridget bolted over to untie her, leaving Fred to finish clearing the Peggie stragglers, “Mary, Mary, where’s Will? Where’s Jerome?”

“Jerome is inside the church, I heard him not five minutes before your explosions went off,” Bridget nodded and stood, helping Mary May to her feet and handing her a Peggie gun she goes to head off towards the church before Mary grabs her arm, “Bridget, Will was shot. He went down to the basement with the kids, to keep them safe.” In that moment, all of the panic she had done so well to subdue comes back and she’s off, yanking her arm away without another word. Mary May, left alone turns to the man handling what seemed to be too much dynamite, “Fuck!” She grabs Fred by his shirt sleeve, “You!” The words were almost lost underneath the pounding of her heart in her ears, as Mary May motions to Fred, “The front of the church is all that’s left to clear, we gotta get Jerome out of there.” The three of them; Mary May, Boomer and Fred could clear the rest of the church while Bridget bolted off to the basement.

Dropping to her knees Bridget bangs at the metal door of the basement, “Guys. It’s Bridget -- fuck -- Miss Campion. Let me in please! The Peggies, they’re gone. Please!” She was breathless as the doors open to the terrified eyes of the two dozen kids who were piled into the tiny basement, the two teenagers, she recognized Jack Sommers and Keith Fyre as the boys who opened the doors, both of the boys looked… scared and something else, she took another deep breath and pulled them both into a tight hug, “I’m so sorry guys, are you all alright?”

Jack’s voice is little more than a whisper as she pulls away, “There’s so much blood -- Bri-Miss Campion, we keep trying to compress it just like you guys showed us but…” Both boys eyes cast down to the basement, where she found Will Moore, with a tourniquet on his leg and two girls desperately holding a jacket to his leg while he leaned against the wall, bracing himself with his rifle. The voices of Mary-May and Jerome could be heard from outside the basement, and the kids slowly filtered out, eyes sad and lost as they looked at their Youth Leaders, covered in blood and reeking of death and loss.

“You’re late.” Will slides down the wall he had braced himself against as Bridget rushed over, hands tugging at the flannel she wore ripping it apart to make a tourniquet of her own, as she works to busy herself with bracing his leg he grabs her arm and pulls her up pressing a gentle kiss to the tips of her fingers words soft, as if he’s fighting off sleep, “It’s been ten minutes and the bleeding hasn’t stopped -- we’ve packed it and the tourniquet isn’t high enough…” His thumb ran gently over the top of her hand a sign of comfort to the both of them, as a line of red followed it, “I’m going to die, Bridget. There isn’t a doctor anywhere near here and we don’t have the materials here to fix it.”

“No.” The word was repeated as she pulled her hand out of his and pushed her shirt into the wound, “You can’t… You can’t die. We’ve been through so fucking much and you can’t leave me now…” His hand came up and brushed the stray hairs out of her face, placing a kiss to her forehead, “No. Don’t you dare. You don’t get to --” Any composure she had was lost now, full sobs wracking her figure as her shirt slowly soaked with blood, “You don’t get to say goodbye! You don’t get to leave me like this!”

Will laughed, “Well, if you’re the one asking, I’ll stop dying just for you.” Pulling her up to him once again, he cupped her face with both hands as her own fell to his chest, “It’ll be okay.” He pressed another kiss on the bridge of her nose, “You’ll be alright.” And another to the tip, “Mary and Jerome will help you through this.” And a final kiss to her lips which she returned desperate, begging him not to leave her, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” The words were whispered as her hands felt the rhythm of his chest stop and she felt herself shake as her breathing increased, “Please don’t go. Please.” The word repeated again and again and again, as her hands slid to his neck, searching for a pulse, for anything, her words desperate, “You said you wouldn’t -- you couldn’t. Please come back!” A hand on her shoulder made her turn, to see Jerome, his eyes soft and sad as he tried to pull her back from Will and she fell into his arms, sobs wracking her body at how lost and hollow she felt. “He’s gone.”

Jerome’s hand ran across her back in a calming manner as she hugged him tightly, “I’m so sorry, Bridget. They came into town so fast and he jumped in front of the kids -- they were shooting at the fucking kids.” Pulling away he tried to pull her out of the dark basement, “We’ll come back for him, you need to get cleaned up, there are still people who need you.”

She shook her head, “Please.” Her whole body felt hollow as she walked back down the stairs before turning to look at him, “Let me bury him. We need to bury them -- all of them.” Her eyes fell to the two men that she and Boomer had killed upon entering the town, “Closure isn’t something the Project’s afforded us since they’ve gotten more violent.” She lets out a deep breath, fighting off more tears, “We need to say goodbye.” The word broke off and she fought with herself to keep the tears away.

 

* * *

 

Getting the Spread Eagle back open wasn’t hard -- there were still enough people left in town to get things in some sort of working order; Fred had taken the truck and headed off to his own family, promising to bring them all back here for safety he waved them all off as they started to dig a line of graves for all those that were lost in the fight that had broken out earlier that day. Jerome’s voice was softer, reciting what was the usual funerary scriptures, “...He restores my soul; He leads me in paths of righteousness for His name's sake.” His hand comes down on her shoulder, “I know you’ve told me that you hate Psalm 23 but…”

“It’s… ironic” She breathes, she was sweat covered and trying to stop herself from shaking as they started the work of filling in the graves, “I’ve been to too many funerals to find comfort in something so…” Even when I walk in the valley of darkness, I will fear no evil for You are with me. Her words faded off, perhaps it wasn’t as ironic as she had originally thought -- hands blistered; blood and dust covered her jeans and bare stomach as she worked even harder now to fight off the tears that threatened to fall. Jerome and Mary May were at either side of her, working to help finish the work, long after night fell, “You’ll need to head to the Pumpkin Farm, Rae-Rae and her son were both killed and… I didn’t have a shovel.” Looking at the long line of graves she sighs, exhaustion filling her to her very bones. “...can one of you drive me home? I… need a shower, and change and…” Go. “I think I’m going to head to the Henbane -- the jail is solid and I want to make sure that… That’s a lie. I just… I have to go. At least for a little while.”

“Yeah, of course,” Mary-May came up behind her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, “I’ll take you home.” They were both so gentle with her, helping her into the truck as Bridget stared blankly out of the window, watching the moonlight fields pass that by the time they reached her small cabin she had fallen asleep in the passenger seat with her head against the window, “Hey, we’re here.” Blinking the tiredness out of her eyes she hops out of the car, reaching for the almost forgotten bag between them, “Do you… want me to come inside?”

“No.” Voice hoarse from the sobs earlier and the nap she had just taken, Bridget shook her head and headed towards the house, “‘m gonna get a shower and head to bed. I’ll call you guys before I head out in the morning.” Tapping her leg she calls for Boomer who hops out of the bed of the truck and joins her in the house. Bag dropping right inside the door she wanders over to the fridge, searching for something to feed to Boomer, finding leftover beef she places the plastic container on the floor and walked to the bathroom, turning on the shower she crawled inside the tub, clothes and all. The loss that she had subverted into working on the town; digging and cleaning and keeping up a face for the kids was gone and she devolved into sobs once more -- clawing at clothes, ripping piece by piece off until there was nothing left but the cold spray of the water against her back. By the time she managed to pull herself out of the shower three inches of rust colored water sat in the bottom of the tub, her soaked, bloodstained clothes effectively stopping the drain. She didn’t bother to move them.

Pulling one of Will’s flannel shirts out of their shared closet she fell into bed, exhausted, physically and emotionally from the events of the last three days -- she was ready to beg sleep to take her. The thought never even crossed her mind — the occurrence was rare. So rare that most people think it doesn’t exist. This link between soulmates. She remembers a few scattered articles from high school and college; back when it was a dream -- to find the one person who would understand her for all she was. The irony of it all was as Deputy Bridget Campion, curled in on herself, wishing for nothing more than sleep in her own bed, the last thing she wanted to hear was someone else’s voice in her head.

_“It sounds like you’ve had a hard day.”_

**[NEW COLLECTIBLE DISCOVERED]** _On the second shelf of the bar lay and old, and almost forgotten video recorder. Driving back, Mary May found herself behind the bar once more, and while searching for things the cult left behind she found it and couldn’t help the smile that formed at the memory of the last time they used it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I've decided. It's definitely going to be Tuesdays and Thursdays for updates. It'll give me time to wrangle my thoughts but produce content that I'm pleased with while not causing burnout. (Also. My terrible chapter titles are just songs. I apologize for the cheesiness of it. But they'll all be songs from a playlist that the dep would listen to!)


	4. All Your Life

With Deputy Hudson safely tucked away in his bunker in the early hours of the morning, John found himself able to focus on the more pressing matters at hand, even if as he tried to sleep, he found himself too anxious, like a child on Christmas morning. As dawn broke on the first full day of the Reaping John Seed wandered out onto the top balcony of his Ranch, coffee in hand as he read the first of incremental reports the Chosen had started sending back to him. Radio transmissions came back to his office all night — telling him of the successes that his people had brought the Project. It was pride that filled him then. He knew better, but couldn’t help the feeling; the success of his family was real, and they were working together to make Eden a reality.

His morning was filled -- The Chosen could be heard training the newest recruits in the fields surrounding his home. There had been chatter in the early morning about the escaped Deputy -- nothing concrete with the exception of the small outpost on the island just south of Joseph’s Island going dark, but the work there was small and not really a concern and so far removed from all three of the Heralds that there was no point in running out and addressing it now. It was more important to wait for them to make a clear move. Instead, he headed off to his bunker -- he had something he needed to do, and needed the good Deputy Hudson to help him accomplish it.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time he returned home it was well past morning, with more reports awaiting him in the living room he made his way in -- searching for good news and perhaps sightings of the rogue Deputy who’d done surprisingly well in evading them. Even more sporadic reports -- a roadblock lost and a woman and man stealing a car, but honestly, with the amount of gun toting civilians it was hard to chalk any of these reports up to anything more than individual rebellion. It would be handled soon enough; Eden’s Gate was organized and ready for this day, and no matter who you were, one person alone couldn’t stop the wheels of progress from continuing.

He took a deep breath. John could take a moment now, to reflect and contemplate his own progress. To visualize the change he wished to see and use that desire to help those who may need a helping hand to see just what they were doing at the Project.

The silence of his afternoon meditations were broken _“No!”_ The words vibrated through his chest and gave him pause as panic that was not his own filled his chest, _“Don’t you dare.”_ John gripped the seat cushion next to him as he attempted to get his breathing under control -- but the panic and fear that was driven into his chest refused to leave. It was _impossible._ After years of self-consuming hatred and harm, there was no way that whatever this person was going through was enough to trigger this, not after all he had done, _“You don’t get to -- You don’t get to say goodbye!”_ Someone they loved was dying -- he could feel the ache in his chest, the desperation as the voice begged and he could feel himself soften; he understood loss, understood begging someone to stay when there isn’t anything you can do to stop them, _“You don’t get to leave me like this!”_

There was silence then and John stood, pacing along the long dining table -- he has no idea who this person is or how to contact them, but they’re stuck now, stuck with each other. He wished he had paid closer attention to the celebrity cases that came into the offices of _Soulmates_. Even the word feels wrong. Almost every office that he’d worked with in Georgia saw it as a hoax; something pretended for fifteen minutes of fame and the messiest of divorces. The dirtiest secrets and truly impactful drama that ensued always made the cases a three ring circus. He shook his head. But the proof that science had given was shaky at best -- always something about emotional or physical trauma causing it and as soon as it got out the media had a field day; Hallmark made a dozen movies on it and whatever proof was once again hidden behind romantic ideals. Authors, now with a footing made hundreds of books. It was a fiasco. And to John Seed. There was no way it could exist until right now.

Hands shaking he could feel the adrenaline running through his system. The panic hadn’t subsided and he couldn’t help himself, “Are you okay?” He says it out loud, feeling like a fumbling child trying to figure out how this works, “Are you okay?” but he’s met with blackness -- there’s nothing left but an inconsolable pit in his stomach and his thoughts are making his head spin. _This can’t be real._ As three of his men meander into the house -- a look of shock on their faces at his outburst, he ushers them away with a gesture. The last thing he needed right now were rumors to fly. _He had to be dreaming._

  
_“You said you wouldn’t -- you couldn’t. Please come back!”_ The churning of emotions was enough to make him nauseous. Whoever this was, they had no idea that they were sharing the worst day of their life with him; and were too caught up in their own grief to even realize he was trying to reach out -- or hell, maybe, he had no idea how to do it and they would only be able to feel the worst of each other. The thought made his stomach sink; and all he could think was there’s an intense sense of irony in the idea that the only person who could wholly feel your pain could only experience the very worst, and wasn’t privy to your joys or the happiness that you experience.

He wanted to try again, to reach out, to prove this theory he imposed on himself was wrong, that he wouldn’t share in only his grief with another individual. But. Words alluded him. What do you say to someone who watched someone they loved die? Especially when the only thing you know about them is that someone they loved just died. “Loss is only temporary.” The words echo across the empty house, and he knows that they can’t hear him, “You’ll be okay.” And the emotions that came on so quickly fade in much the same way, soon he’s left with a hollowness in his chest and the feeling of whiplash. He was still pacing; mind filled with a hundred thousand thoughts and unsure of the direction to steer himself in.

If John was the man he was five years ago, he would have left the Ranch -- to go blindly searching for whomever has the voice that continues to echo in his mind. His left hand rises to his chest, the place where the panic originated from and took a deep breath, but he had responsibilities now; his family and the Project came first. He had no idea who this person was, let alone how to contact or find them. And what if they didn’t want to be found? What if they didn’t want this, and just wanted to be left to life out what was left of their time alone. His thoughts turned to irony once again -- for him to have this connection now, as Joseph was certain the end of days were upon them. _He wanted a drink._ The word carved into his chest burned at the thought -- to fall back on his vices now, when they were so close was unacceptable. He poured himself a small glass of bourbon anyway. Joseph would forgive him when they discussed what happened here today.

Returning to where he was originally, on the couch, surrounded by reports his eyes listlessly scanned around him, looking for something to grab his attention away from the voice that seemed to continue to echo in his mind. The dog, Boomer was captured earlier that day. Jacob would be pleased, or at least amused with the dog. The Rye’s and the Armstrong girl were still holdouts -- he had expected them to stand firm, not that he wasn’t disappointed that even in the light of all of the information The Project had given them, they chose to stand, resolute in their beliefs. He’d leave them for now, more important was Fall’s End -- it was the heart of the Valley, and if they claimed it, and its people, the rest would follow. He had expected a report back from them more than an hour ago and he paused -- was that what his men were coming in to tell him when he ushered them away.

As if on command, the radio from his office crackled to life, “John, sir. We lost Fall’s End.” Silence followed, and tempestuous as he was feeling, John hoped, that there was a good explanation for it. As he reached the room the voice continued, anxious to at least seem proactive in the loss, “We’ve set up roadblocks outside the town but…”

“What?” He could feel irritation bubble and could hear both of his older brother’s now, about showing more care and understanding -- well, at least Jacob would just call him a fucking idiot and get on with this, but his already frayed nerves caused him to snap at the man across the radio, “How? How did this happen?”

There was a long pause, the men on the other end obviously conversing, piecing together the information that they had and trying to find the least inflammatory way to have this come out, “The Deputy who escaped is thought to have come in with a dog and another man and the three of them were able to liberate the town.” Joseph did say that this woman was going to be a problem, that there wasn’t any fear in her eyes when the helicopter crashed, just wrath and pride -- if she was here, he’d have to handle her, and quickly. His thoughts were broken as the radio crackled once again, “We heard explosions, but by the time we got there, the people of the town had already taken the offensive.”

  
“And the Deputy?” He was pacing again, his office was smaller, but it was what he did to think, to clear his mind -- bourbon forgotten back in the living room as he racked his mind for what exactly to do with her. He could collect her, bring her to him and end this before it has a chance to truly begin --

“From what we can see, she’s helping the people of the town bury those who died during her attack.” The radio stopped for a moment, and when the man’s voice returned it was soft, almost surprised, “Even our people, sir.”

“Very well.” John took a deep breath, there was no point in getting frustrated, his men were doing everything they could, encouragement and progress meant more than a scolding, and keeping his wrath in check was important, “Keep an eye on her and alert nearby groups to her if she ends up on the move -- the last thing we need is for her to meddle in what we’re trying to accomplish.”

“Yes, sir.” He cut the transmission short to allow himself a moment to air his frustration; a groan and a few minutes more of pacing followed as his mind ran wild

He now tuned into his family’s private frequency, “I have confirmation that the Deputy is in Fall’s End.”

He expected a longer period of silence -- that his brothers and sister would be away from their radios and he could leave an abbreviated message when Jacob’s laughter crackled over the radio, “What, did you end up losing Fall’s end to one little girl down there, Johnny?” The ribbing made his hackles rise in the way that any sibling rivalry is wont to.

“Yes.” His response is sharp but he sighs, realizing that there isn’t a point to rising to his brother’s jibes and falling to Joseph’s ego is a more reasonable goal, “She’s evidently the handful that Joseph expected her to be.”

“Bring her to us.” Joseph’s voice was unexpected and it caused the radio to fall silent for a surprisingly long amount of time, “She will join our family. But remain vigilant of her as she travels, she’s certain to visit all three of you soon.”

With that the radio dies off and John sinks down into his chair exhaustion aching his very bones. Curiosity getting the better of him once again he leans against the desk, eyes scanning the Montanan night sky, his thoughts return to his bourbon in the living room as he mumbles, “It sounds like you’ve had a hard day.” It was still out loud; and John couldn’t help but be hopeful, curious to see if she could hear him.

 _“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”_ After a stressful day, John couldn’t help but laugh -- of all of the things that they could have responded with and that’s what he got.  _What a pair we make._


	5. Just One Yesterday

_ “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”  _

In this lifetime, Bridget Campion had never wanted anything more than to sleep than after the weekend she just finished. After two vehicular crashes, multiple cases of grand theft auto and attending funerary services for half the town begging the universe for maybe six hours of blissful nothing. And instead. There’s another voice ringing inside her head.  _ “To be fair, you’re the one who interrupted me first.” _

Boomer looks up at her once she snorts and says seemingly to the air,  _ “It hasn’t exactly been the best day.” _ She doesn’t want to say any more. Honestly, Bridget’s sort of pretending it didn’t happen. That her life was the same as it was a week ago, that she’s in bed alone because Will and Eli had a job in Missoula and got a hotel for the night. Instead of the visions of blood and aluminum and dynamite that she couldn’t seem to get out of her head. 

_ “I can tell.”  _ They’re entertained or at least amused with either her curt responses or how she’s reacting. Either way it irritates her in a way she doesn’t quite comprehend. 

_ “Yeah. Well. It’s been fun. But right about now I’d like to sleep in my bed and pretend that none of this is happening so. Goodnight. Or morning. Or whatever.” _ She closes her eyes and imagines home; corn fields and orchards and trains clicking ever onward. Running through trees to get to streams and rivers and avoiding responsibility by not coming home until the house was asleep and she climbed the carport to her open bedroom window.

 

* * *

 

Morning came too soon. Bridget could feel the warmth of sun rays splitting through the not quite closed curtains and in a half asleep state she had hoped that the last few days were a fever dream, that she’d wander out to the kitchen and the world will be as she left it Thursday morning. Instead, she feels Boomer climb her way up the bed and rests his head in her lap as she sits up, “No such luck, huh, boy?” He whines and she reaches down to pet him, “That’s okay. At least we have each other.”

By the time she was ready to leave her house, the fog had cleared from the Valley, it was only about a half hour walk from her house to the center of town and it wouldn’t do either of them any good to linger here any longer -- there was too much to do. And she promised to see Mary May and Jerome before she wandered off into the Henbane. Fiddling with her radio Bridget sighs and stops walking for a moment, before turning it on, “So. Fred. Is there any chance I can commandeer you for a trip into the Henbane today? If you’re still with your family it’s understandable.” She and Boomer walked a few minutes longer; doing their best to stay off the roads and avoid the surprisingly numerous roadblocks, “You know boy, we really must have pissed somebody off with that stunt yesterday.”  _ That’s the least they deserve after this weekend. _

She’s broken out of her reverie by Frank’s voice crackling over the radio, “Yeah, we just turned up at Fall’s End -- my wife’s gonna help Mary May run the Spread Eagle and the kids are joining the rest of the Youth Group. Jerome’s hoping to organize some sort of classes to keep them occupied and out of sight.” She can hear Mary May’s and Jerome’s voices crackle over the radio and Fred quickly laughs at whatever they said, before returning to the radio, “I’m up for heading into the Henbane now though; other than the roadblocks, it looks like they’re waiting us out -- at least for the moment.”

Everyone’s waiting for her as she meanders dust covered into the recently revived town, Boomer charged ahead of her, almost tackling Fred to the ground as the two of them reached the bar at the center of town. Shaking hands and hugging the remaining members of Fall’s End, she’s introduced as The Deputy to those who don’t recognize her. “Must admit, you’re handling everything better than someone who's gone through what you have would.” 

Bridget laughs, it’s dry and hard and she tries to keep any sort of hysterics away, “If you call a strategic blend of disassociation, denial and shock "handling it well”, then sure."

The four of them -- five, if you counted Boomer headed off towards the general store, Mary May looked over at her, a concerned frown now firmly in place, “You can’t really think --”

“It’s okay. Really.” Bridget takes a deep breath before looking over what scant materials had been left in the store, stocking up on whatever ammunition and guns the store could bare to part with for what cash she was able to shuffle out of her pockets, she reorganizes the makeshift holsters she made out of belts and cargo pants she ripped apart upon waking up this morning,  “What’s important right now is moving forward. The goal is to head to the jail. It’s sturdy. And if people from the Henbane made their way there it’d be a good place to hole up. We can use it as a central hub and maybe see about getting a clearer radio signal or maybe if someone can point in the right direction I’ll climb some more towers to get a fucking cell signal back in this county.” She was rambling and by the time Bridget realized it, she smiled awkwardly up at both Mary May and Jerome, “I’m sorry. I’m… trying. I’ll be safe, I promise. And I’ll be back soon.”

Jerome’s hand came down onto her shoulder before he pulled her into a hug, “You’ll be alright.” Pulling away he holds her shoulders tightly, “And we’ll be here waiting for you to come home.”

“I promise I’ll be back” her throat ached from holding back tears as she pulled both Jerome and Mary May into the tightest of hugs, “And I promise I’ll bring better news than what I came here with yesterday.”

 

* * *

 

The trip itself was slow going -- using back roads and, well, not roads at all, to avoid roadblocks had taken the ride that would normally be about an hour and turned it into a full day’s worth of excursions. “So your family was alright then? No one got seriously hurt?”

“Nah. They all holed up in the bunker -- I thought my wife was gonna shoot me when I started knocking on the door.” He laughed as they quickly turned to avoid yet another roadblock,  _ how many of these did the Peggies manage to set up in one fucking night?  _  “They heard the shooting and saw a television broadcast and knew that they had to get the fuck away from where the Peggies would find them.”

She hummed, eyes back watching the horizon as the sun started to fade into the mountains, “I’m glad that they’re alright -- after yesterday, I’m not sure they’re the type to take kindly to people telling them no.” He laughed in agreement before the two of them fell into a comfortable silence, only the hum of the tires and the occasional shifting of gears interrupted the hum of static from the radio. 

Head resting against the cool glass which contrasted with the warm sun and comfortable heat of Boomer on her lap she could feel herself dozing off, her mind beginning to wander in her half asleep state -- thinking of hiking trips and weekends spent fishing  _ (getting drunk with Kim) _ as the sun continued to fall,  _ “You’re much more calm today than you were yesterday.” _

The words made her jolt awake and she could almost feel their laughter in her chest, petting Boomer to get him return his head to her lap, she took a deep breath -- fuck, so it wasn’t a dream after all, and she couldn’t just mumble into the glass. Poor Fred would think she’s crazier than she’s certain he already thinks she is. She thinks about the feeling of their laughter in her chest as she  _ (attempts to)  _ respond,  _ “Car rides make me sleepy.” _

_ “Do you travel a lot?”  _ They’re curious, and evidently a lot more comfortable with their situation than she is, as she thinks that, Bridget can’t help but sink lower into the seat of the truck. 

She thinks of the plane ride to Montana and her panic during her layovers, of the recent vehicle crashes, and honestly, she’s impressed that she hasn’t decided to give up on vehicular travel all together,  _ “Not really.” _

_ “Very eloquent.”  _ She can hear the dry pan of the voice in her head and it makes her hide a grin, she shouldn’t enjoy getting a rise out of someone like this, _ “Care to elaborate?” _

_ “No.” _ She can feel them sigh in frustration -- they seem like the type to pace and she can almost see it, a deep scowl followed by extremely angry pacing. She decides to have mercy on them,  _ “Fine. Small towns require road trips for you know, a mall or like anything beyond your occasional farm stand and game butchers. But other than that… Nope.” _ There’s a pause -- she’s unsure if they’re trying to figure out how to respond or if they’ve stopped listening and then she decides to continue. 

_ “I’m such a sucker for IKEA -- my and friends used to take two hour road trips down just to go and wander aimlessly around one for the afternoon. We’d go home, stop by a liquor store along the way and get some wine and then spend the rest of the night drunkenly trying to read the directions and put the damn things together.” _ She wants to laugh, as memories of half put together beds and bookcases fill her memories, Bridget settles for a genuine smile instead, “ _ It wouldn’t ever end well -- well, for the furniture at least, we’d be drunk and happy. Probably start bingeing something stupid -- like Game of Thrones or Harry Potter. By the time that morning came and family slash significant others slash whoever came through the door and saw half a dozen women drunkenly passed out over a half completed bed frame with the Red Wedding playing in the background…”  _ She shakes her head, eyes returning to the sun, now plunging beneath the mountains,  _ “Honestly, we probably spent more money getting parts to replace the ones we put in the wrong places than if we just bought professionally assembled furniture.” _

_ “Why go to all of that trouble then?” _ She was relieved that she didn’t drive them away with all of her rambling, honestly, given everything that’s happened, to have someone to just talk about getting wasted in her early twenties instead of thinking about the fact that she, another man, and a dog were going to go do something stupid. Like. Really.  _ Really.  _ Stupid.

_ “Some people go out to bars and sink a hundred dollars a weekend into forgetting who they are.” _ It was matter of fact, and she could feel herself shrugging, hoping her companion in the seat next to her wouldn’t see it, _ “We’d rather just ruin some Swedish furniture from the comfort of our own home. The alcohol and entertainment are both cheaper. PLUS friends don’t let friends get sloppy drunk in their homes.” _

They snorted -- and she’s positive that they rolled their eyes,  _ “I’m almost certain that you made that last phrase up.” _

_ “I would never.”  _ She can feel the grin returning to her face,  _ “What? Have  _ **_you_ ** _ never gotten drunk with your friends and put together Swedish furniture poorly?” _

_ “It was never on my bucket list, that’s for sure.”  _ The words were dry and the grin on her face couldn’t help but spread further, she can almost see them -- too formal and stiff; probably an office worker somewhere that just got unfortunately pulled into her drama and she can’t help but feel guilty for doing this to them.

Quashing down those feelings she continues,  _ “Well, if we ever meet up in this crazy world of ours, I’ll make sure you have the weirdest fucking weekend of your life.” _

They laugh, and for the first time, it’s genuine -- not out of amusement at catching her off guard or forced, but just because what she said was so ridiculous,  _ “I hope you realize I’ll hold you to that.” _

“Dep.” A hand reaches over and gently shakes her -- she recognizes the intersection in front of her and takes a deep breath, “We’re here.”

_ “You damn well better.”  _ She hesitates, and nods, petting Boomer’s head in hopes of calming her nerves.  _ “Well, my road trip is over. I expect a stupid story out of you the next time we talk.”  _

_ “No promises.” _

 

* * *

 

The three of them exit the car and make their way into the woods beside the jail, the darkness would hopefully give them cover as she pulls her radio out of her back pocket, tuning for a moment, her radio then crackled to life, “This is Virgil Minkler at the hope County Jail. We need help. I repeat we need help. The Peggies are trying to break down the gate. If anyone is nearby please hurry I don’t know how much longer we have.” 

The radio clicked off, the last thing the two (plus Boomer) rogue residents of Hope County need right now is for the group of a dozen Peggies to turn around and turn them into swiss cheese. With the success of Fall’s End fresh in her mind she turns to Fred, “Right. So. How much dynamite do we have between us?”

She can hear the grin in his voice as she turns to face him, “About a dozen sticks?”

“Okay. So. The trucks at the back of the lot? We’re going to launch like, four sticks that way, hopefully create a distraction big enough that we can catch them from behind.” From here the three of them had a clear picture of what they were up against; at least three trucks and probably a dozen or more men shooting up at the ramparts of the old jail.

He jabs her in the ribs, grin on his face widening with her scowl, “You know, for a public official, you’re surprisingly into the destruction of public property.”

She wants to flip him off, but the shouts coming from the stone and concrete buildings take precedence, they need to help these people, and now, “You have a better idea?”

“Nope. Just like pissing you off, Dep.”

Bridget rolled her eyes as they creep closer to the edge of the woods, “Alright. Boomer. Stay. I’ll call for you once the explosions are finished.” Creeping closer, she clicked the radio on, “In less than two minutes there’ll be an explosion at the back of the parking lot, brace yourselves and watch out for the two people,” She hears Fred shout,  _ And Dog _ over the sound of gunfire “not wearing white and shooting at you.”

Out of breath Bridget leaned against the stone wall of the jail and watched as the  flames continued to lick at the too dry grass, Fred proceeded to bang at the door as her radio crackled to life once more, “Hey, is that you, Rook? Thank Christ.” The door swung open, almost hitting poor Fred in the face, “We could definitely use your help,” there was a tired sigh as the three of them followed the Sheriff into the courtyard, being sure to brace the door behind them, “They’ve been throwing themselves at the wall since noon today -- we’ve lost a lot of good people.”

Checking her guns, and Boomer for injuries, she looks back up at the sheriff, as serious now as she was when she first left Dutch’s bunker, “Well, now that we’re here, we’ll put a stop to this.”

  
[NEW COLLECTIBLE DISCOVERED]  _ In a forgotten desk at the back of the old Jail a forgotten SD card is jammed at the back of one of the drawers. While breaking it apart for scrap, a member of the resistance finds it and leaves it at the shop. Who knows what inside it. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to shamelessly plug my Tumblr here; in case any of you would like to see some more drabbles or other things while I'm writing. So come check me out at pathfinderyderss for both dreams and memes. Also! Be sure to check out the sister fic [NEW COLLECTIBLE DISCOVERED] for some cool pre-game lore!


	6. Leave the Pieces

By the time morning broke over the walls of the jail, everyone inside could feel the exhaustion in their bones -- truck after truck, and then the tanker followed by explosions and wave after wave of angels with that fucking music. Bridget was certain she’d never get it out of her head. After helping Tracey and the Sheriff triage and move everyone inside the jail she was more than happy to collapse on the sofa next to Fred, with Boomer comfortably lying across the both of them. Fred had grabbed his radio to call back to Fall’s End -- letting his wife know that he’s alright, and Bridget couldn’t help but smile at the fondness in his voice. “I don’t want to think what would have happened if you hadn’t come in and saved our bacon, Rook.” 

Head turning, Bridget’s eyes met the sheriff’s, “You would have been fine, Fred, Boomer and I? We didn’t do all that much.” She looked back at Fred again then down at Boomer on her lap as she ran a hand through the dog’s fur and smiled, “Well, I didn’t. These two were pretty amazing.” Whitehorse laughed while gazing over at the members of the shambling company that appeared on the ramparts yesterday evening, “Do you have any idea what’s going on out there, sheriff? Have you gotten word from anyone?”

He exhaled and shook his head, “Honestly, I don’t remember much after the crash… The whole world seemed to disappear and only parts of it came back. But  _ she  _ was there.” A deep breath and Bridget watched as his face twisted; so far lost in what he could manage to dredge up, “Faith. Well, this Faith. Tracey can tell you more…” Words faded off once more, his eyes now catching on Tracey and Virgil who were standing in the next room through the door, “But she showed up -- it could have been an hour, a week, a month in that fog between what’s real and what isn’t and honestly, if it hadn’t been for the two of them, I’m sure I would have done exactly what she wanted.” He shook his head, “They’re good people and I’m glad that I found them; make sure to help them out when you get a chance Rook.”

“They’re all good people.” The words were quiet, almost mumbled as she looked over at all of the injured, she thought of all the people that died out on the walls surrounding the jail -- the angels, with no mind left in them at all. She thinks of Fall’s End, of Jerome and Mary May and subconsciously picks at the blisters on her hands,  _ of Will _ . “Fall’s End is safe -- John Seed did his damndest to take it over,” the words are spilling out of her as her eyes are fixed to the corner of the room, not wanting to look at anyone, not willing to lose herself again, “but Fred, Boomer and I rolled in and we got the town back in order… mostly.” There was a deep, shuddering breath, “You can get them over the radio -- trade supplies, materials you guys need here and vice versa. I’m gonna… try to sleep all of this off. Once I wake up, we’ll discuss where to go from here?”

“Sounds like a plan.” He nodded her away as she shambled over to a makeshift cot, Bridget seemed to pass out before her body even hit the blankets. He wanted to ask, remembering the nights at the bar and at the barbecues, but, if she didn’t want to say anything, he certainly wasn’t going to pry.

 

* * *

 

He wanted to fidget -- to bounce his leg or pick at his fingers, do something to release the nervous tension that had collected in his chest since Joseph’s appearance at the Ranch earlier that morning, especially now that he was sitting in his study, directly across from the man who seemed to be studying him so closely. “You seem troubled, John.” His brows knitted and the fingers that had been laced squeezed together even more tightly, he doesn’t even know where to begin -- the first day of the Reaping and he not only manages to lose the deputy, but also Fall’s End and then there’s… them. 

The voice that’s sometimes in the back of his head.

John opens his mouth. And then closes it. Fingers worrying his lips. Is it even worth bringing up? Would his brother think he was crazy? A fool? The thoughts weigh his chest down even more. Looking back up at his older brother he still sees patience in his eyes, “....Do you believe the stories in the news? The ones about people finding their soulmates?” His voice is so small, and he watches as Joseph leans back in his chair, eyes still observing, still patient, and part of him is irked by it. By his own lack of it. Neither brother says a word, for what John feels is an uncomfortable amount of time, he wants to fidget again.

“I believe that the media today sensationalizes the world. That we cannot take what we see through their lense at face value.” John felt like he was returned to the white church the night his brother was arrested -- the passion in his voice was the same, his belief was the same, but now, right now, John wanted his brother, not The Father, “It’s easy to get caught up in the world around us -- to desire the things that the world tells us that we require, that we deserve, but we must see through it, to lead the flock beyond this world of sensationalism and bring them home.”

John could feel himself deflate at the impromptu sermon, like he was being scolded by his parents again, “This was different.” The words were sharp, sharper than he meant them to be and he could feel his brother’s eyes piercing him once more, “I heard them.  _ Felt them. _ They were begging for the life of someone they loved, I could feel their panic… their…. their…. great loss and sorrow.” He reached over and grabbed his brother’s hands, hoping to see some sort of understanding, some recognition for what he was going through “This wasn’t some video or daytime talk show piece. This was me, standing in this room, right here and feeling someone else’s overwhelming grief and pain.”

There was something, unreadable, hidden, behind those amber tinted glasses and in that moment, Joseph gently took his brother’s hands in his, “There is so much conflict in you, John.” He wants to pull away, to cover his ears and not hear the rejection he’s certain that Joseph is about to reign down upon his head, “Your sins vie with your compassionate nature and your kind heart and now this… it fills you with doubts.” Just as he’s about to pull away Joseph grips his hands tighter and pulls him back to the center of the room, “You will find them, but you must not lose sight of our mission. Find the Deputy. Bring her home. Bring our whole flock home.”

Joseph smiles and releases John’s hands and in three quick strides is out of the office and headed back to his flock on his island, and John is left, feeling like he’s been left all alone again. “Yes, Joseph.”

_ “Well, if we ever meet up in this crazy world of ours, I’ll make sure you have the weirdest fucking weekend of your life.”  _ The words had reverberated in his chest since yesterday, along with the warmth and contentment he could feel. He could wish.

 

* * *

 

Bridget’s body  _ ached _ from shovels and lead pipes to rpgs to fucking tanker trucks full of gasoline, nothing left her body untouched. By the time she had managed to convince her aching bones to get up from the cot she had claimed as her own night had once again fallen over the jail, “And here we thought you were never going to get up again.” The joking tone in Tracey’s voice brought the smallest of smiles to her face as Bridget leaned against the metal door jam. “We managed to get through to Fall’s End -- they’re going to send their injured here for triage once the roadblocks are under control; until then, they’re going to work on sending scrap metal our way -- gonna work on sending them a care package for you to take to them.”

She hummed, walking over to the map, mostly empty and her fingers traced over the many hiking trails she’s taken in the years she’s lived in Montana, “Most of the radio is still shot, yeah?” Everyone in the room hummed their agreement, and so she decided to continue, “And cell reception hasn’t been around since the incident with those kids six months ago.” Bridget could feel the air get heavier as she continued to speak, “What the hell do I need to do to get those signals back up and running. Even for the purpose of getting secure channels that we can use without worrying about the Peggies listening in.”

“The PIN-K0 Tower.” Bridget turned, it was Virgil who had spoken up, “About six months ago, it went silent; local police went to look into it, but nothing ever came of it.”  _ I can’t imagine why _ . “It won’t do much on it’s own -- maybe county-wide text messages and clearing up some of the high wave frequency, but you won’t get it all restored, not without months of work, and we have more pressing matters at the moment.”

There was a hum of agreement from all those in the now too warm office of the jail, “Agreed. Honestly, just being able to get text messages out -- see who’s alive…” Her voice faded off again, lost in all of the dead bodies she’s seen in the last seventy-two hours. “It’d also allow us to organize, get people to safe places, away from the worst of the Peggie’s footholds.” Her fingers circled around the packing facility across from the Pumpkin Farm where Bridget and Fred had found Boomer, “When we passed here, there were at least a dozen trucks, if not more at Gardenview -- easy to think that they’ve already taken it over.”

“The railyard in the valley would be a great place for scrap for the jail --” Fred had come over, pointing out places that would be valuable targets, “We could use the river to bring shipments up at night, no roadblocks by boat, right?” Her eyes scanned the map, searching for the PIN-K0 tower, knowing that’s exactly where she needed to go next. And she found it, less than a mile off an old hiking trail she liked taking in the fall -- the words of her collaborators fell off as she made plans. Taking the truck they had  _ borrowed _ as far as the Pumpkin Farm, and then trekking the rest of the way on foot. It’d be easier to dodge patrols that way. 

Bridget’s thoughts were pulled away from her impromptu hiking trip as their shortwave radio crackled to life, _“Hey, this is Sharky at the Moonflower Trailer park, ready to start a BBQ…”_ Turning to the radio she smiled, well maybe she had one more trip to make before she headed off into the mountains.

Her eyes scanned the map, searching for the Moonflower Trailer Park, it was north but not out of the way… and from the way that both Staci and Joey complained about him, he might just be what they needed in order to cause a little havoc for the Peggies, “I take it you’re going to go grab Bowshaw while you’re at it, Rook?” 

“What’s one more to add to my growing collection?” She grinned over at Fred who proceeded to push her into the filing cabinets, sending the two of them into a fit of laughter, with Boomer now comfortably sitting between her legs while she looks up at the rest of her companions, “Well, now, what choice do I have? Even Boomer agrees it’s a good idea.”

 

* * *

 

It was a little before dawn when the three of them headed outside the jail, “So. Drug boats. Huge as shit statue. And the water main? OH. And the doct-veterinarian, is there anything that I’m missing?” Bridget wiggled the four fingers that she had counted on back at the members of the resistance staying behind.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve got it covered, Rook. We’ll update you if anything else happens.” Whitehorse’s voice was dry, but he was pleased to see that the woman’s spirits had at least recovered slightly from yesterday on the sofa. 

“You better! All the work we put in to keeping it out of Peggie hands, it’s the least you could do!” She could hear Traci and Whitehorse cursing her out as she ducks into the passenger side of the beat up truck, at least things turned out better in the Henbane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for not having something to publish last Thursday. Life got in the way, but, I should be back on track here /hopefully/. Feel free to leave some feedback or commentary. 
> 
> Does Joseph know something that he's not telling John? Will Bridget be disappointed in Sharky's idea of a barbecue? Will Fred be forced to drive for the foreseeable future? Only time will tell.


	7. Say Amen (Saturday Night)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the month long hiatus -- I took a mental health month to get things back in order, and am using this month, and hopefully NaNoWriMo to keep on top of this fic. So, I hope that you guys enjoy the chapter and I promise more on a regular schedule once again!

Bridget couldn’t help but wonder how she had gotten here -- two hours ago she was happily traveling through the Montanan countryside, Boomer comfortably resting his head in her lap as they headed off to the Moonflower Trailer Park. Now. Now she wasn’t sure if it was fury or pettiness that drove her as  _ Disco Inferno _ continued to play on repeat while she ended up bunkered down in the signage for the Trailer Park. “Turn the switches off, Bridget.” Her voice was mocking as she shook her head, “It’ll be easy Bridget. Never fucking mind the sixty angels that are waiting for you just beyond the treeline or the fact that everything is on fire and that the last six inches of your hair is now singed beyond hope.”

“Hey! Come on! As much fun as this is, I had other plans for my Saturday night.” Bridget had decided. It was definitely pettiness. She had no intentions of dying before she got the chance to shoot every single one of the fucking speakers that were perched precariously around the trailer park. And then shove something up Sharky Bowshaw’s ass for thinking that this was, in any way, a good or decent idea. And then,  _ maybe _ just  _ maybe _ convince him to join her for her trip into the Whitetails, better to have that level of destruction and firepower on her side than to leave him to burn up what was left of the countryside.

“I sure as shit fucking hope so, Bowshaw!” She would have no voice come tomorrow -- screaming over the music and the incessant chanting of the Angels, and there came another tally in the pettiness category, “This seems like an incredibly miserable way to spend any amount of time.” Right. There was one more switch, then she could officially collapse in the back of their stolen truck and feign death until it was time to hike through the Whitetails. All she had to do was run past, about twenty-five or so Angels, and hope that another Peggie truck doesn’t come racing through. Easy, right?

Wrong. Oh god. She couldn’t have been more wrong. Bridget could feel bruises blooming on top of the bruises she got yesterday; her shoulders and back were definitely a galaxy of purples and blacks and blues right about now all the while she collapsed onto the roof of the trailer where Charlemagne Victor Boshaw was now dancing. “That was fun!” His laughter was so genuine that when she looked over she couldn’t help but shake her head and smile, “You definitely know how to have a good time…” He paused as he looked her over, she isn’t really sure what exactly he was looking for so she met his gaze before he continued, “you’re a member of law enforcement aren’t you?”

She snorted, “What gave me away?” Refusing to get up she could hear Sharky sigh before settling down on the roof next to her, legs hanging off the roof as she continued, “I’m the newest Deputy Sheriff, Bridget Campion. But you can call me Rook or Dep or Bridget -- anything but  _ Hey You, Sinner _ or variation of the sort, really.”

“I dunno, from what I saw of you,” Bowshaw made a show of looking her up and down now, and she snorted and slapped his knee, “Sinner definitely seems like a good fit.”

“Oh?” She snorted, looking over - neck aching as she did so as he tosses his hat off and rubs a soot covered hand through his hair, “And what have you seen?”

“That you love explosives and fire -- not that I’m complaining here, Dep. We’re very alike that way.” A terrifying thought.

“Yeah, yeah.” She snorted, rolling her eyes while she continues to stare at the now setting skyline, “Destruction of public property has become a penchant of mine, just ask Fred.” He and Boomer had set up in the back of their stolen truck after the fighting had died down. Boomer was now drinking a bottle of water from a frisbee that they had commandeered from the jail. And shouted his affirmation to her blowing up more than her fair share of cars, trucks, SUVs and buildings over the last week.

“Don’t forget grand theft auto!”

Bridget groaned, rolling away from both the voices. “I’m glad the two of you are enjoying my newly found criminal streak.” She winced as her back landed on a row of studs on the roof. Damn the Angels and their shovels and hoes and lead pipes her entire body aches, and moving only made it worse. “So. Do you have any beer to celebrate not dying and stopping at least a portion of Faith’s Angels?”

“You know, I think I may have a cooler full of alcohol for such an occasion.”

 

* * *

 

“So I shit you not: we’re out there, right in front of the jail and she fucking launches the shovel at a group of Peggies and three of them end up on the ground only for the fucking car behind them to explode.” Fred shoves an elbow into her ribs and Bridget can’t help but grunt and glare at the men beside her, “You’d think she’d been doing this all her life.”

“Shit, Dep. You ever think you’re on the wrong side of the law?” Sharky laughs, tossing another beer can into the fire that they started just before the sun began to set, “That reminds me of the one time before Hurk went off adventuring; the two of us were out at Hyde’s Barn one Fourth of July both of us piss drunk on the moonshine that we had stolen from his daddy’s basement. We thought it would be a good idea to set off some fireworks you know, unfortunately for the two of us, the hay out back was drier than my ex-girlfriend and we set the whole fucking barn on fire. Hyde chased us all the way back to Fall’s End, man, that was the best Fourth of July ever.”

The laughter that boomed out of both men was enough to shake the trailer park, “Holy fuck that was you --” Fred’s words broke off as tears formed in the corners of his eyes, “The -- the, the cops said that it was a fucking garbage fire.” This caused another roar of laughter from the two men, Bridget couldn’t help but smile into her can at the two men and the genuine laughter that they’re sharing. There’s been too much sadness, and to have this one moment was… something she very much needed. Something they all needed. 

She shifted off of the lawn chair on top of the now emptied trailer for the cold metal of the roof far enough away that the guys voices were dulled out by the silence of the wilderness. Her eyes traced the skies of the clear Montanan night, stars glittering as she takes a deep breath as a voice interrupted the quiet that had settled around her,  _ “And here I was worrying that you left me.” _

_ “Unlikely.” _ Snorting, she sat up to take a long drink from the beer almost forgotten at her side,  _ “Life just got…. Unexpectedly busy.” _ With fires and explosions and mindlessly drugged people beating the ever living shit out of her with whatever bludgeon they could get their hands on,  _ “Why? You worried you’d lose your uninvited mental company?” _

_ “More like disappointed at losing the offer for a drunken night of attempting to put IKEA furniture together.” _ The words were dry but she could feel a smile behind them.

_ “Well, no such luck. I’m still around. And honestly,” _ She snorted and shifted again, taking a long sip from the beer eyes back on the horizon, watching the last of the pinks and purples disappear into the navy blue night sky,  _ “I’m concerned for your day to day life if drunkenly attempting to put IKEA furniture together with a stranger sounds like a good time.” _

_ “My parents never did teach me about the perils of stranger danger.”  _ Laughter bubbled up from her aching chest and back and both Sharky and Fred looked over at her from her spot on the cold metal roof, and Bridget could feel a blush creep up the back of her neck -- caught laughing at nothing Campion, very nicely done.  _ “And the poorly put together furniture would make for good kindling I’m certain.” _

Returning her back to the cold metal she bit back a smile,  _ “What? You don’t want a half put together entertainment unit sitting in your living room? With chipboard being visible on ninety percent of it?” _

_ “Tempting.”  _ She can all but hear him scoff, and it makes her bit back grin even wider, the picture in her mind's eye is someone whose entire world is just so -- and this piece of horrific IKEA furniture would be the absolute bane of their existence, lopsided and teetering and so unlike everything else, but it would stay, because it was  _ theirs, together theirs. _

_ “It’ll look great. I promise.” _ A blatant lie, the drunken furniture never looks good and honestly, you don’t feel good afterwards, but once again, this person whose world is centered around purpose and focus and then there’s a multi colored coffee table sitting in their living room --  _ where did that come from so-and-so?  _ And horror fills their face as the respond  _ My soulmate got me shitfaced and we put it together while watching PS I Love You _ . Truly a treasure, _ “And it’ll be a conversation piece.” _

_ “Perhaps as a gift.” _ She can hear the amusement in their voice, _ “Kindling is still the best option I think.” _ Taking another long drink of her beer she settles back down onto the roof again, legs crossed this time, her eyes rolling as she hears them snicker.

_ “You’re better off just giving someone money. Besides! Are you really going to give away your only memory that you have with the random person that’s invaded your personal thoughts?” _

_ “That depend how poorly put together it is.” _

_ “Wow. Absolutely brutal. Now I’m going to be certain just to fuck it up; bring my own screws and drywall nails to make it an absolute monster to take apart.” _

_ “That does seem a little petty doesn’t it?” _

_ “Absolutely.” _ Petty she had decided long ago was one of her better defined character traits and couldn’t help the grin that spread at the second part of her comment, _ “But I have every intention of making you work for it.” _

_ “Don’t worry. I will.” _

 

* * *

 

“Campion! We should head out if we have any hopes of making it to the Whitetails by morning. God knows that John Seed had to have put up more roadblocks in the wake of our escape.” Rolling off the roof, she’s met by Boomer loping his way over, and as she’s getting ready to hop into the truck of their newly stolen Peggy truck Fred shouts over, “So what about it, Boshaw? You wanna come with us?”

“Hell yeah I’m coming along! Let’s go kick some Peggy teeth in.” Hopping into the cabin of the truck Bridget slid in the middle. With Boomer in the back, the four of them headed off towards John’s region and, ultimately, to Jacobs. With a deep breath, and Sharky busting the radio, the four of them were off.

By the time they had reached the hiking trail it was well past midnight, discarding the truck along the side of the road the four of them had taken off on foot, the wandering path of the mountain trail was steep but it was the best way to reach the PINK-0 radio tower unnoticed, “So, you’re sure you know where you’re going Dep?” 

Bridget hummed in affirmation, more focused on not tripping in the low light that the dense canopies provided in the mid-summer in Montana, “Yeah, before shit went south all I did was spend my weekends hiking, so I’d like to think I know at least a thing or two about these hiking trails.” She continued onward then, memory of months hiking these mountains by herself or will Will or with the kids from the church spurring her forward.

As morning rose over the mountains the four of them had made their way up most of the mountainside and had stopped outside of a raided and abandoned cabin, sitting on the porch they watched the sun rise and agreed on a sleeping schedule, and Sharky had already retired to the cabin to sleep, “You sure about all of this Dep? These aren’t going to be like the guys from Fall’s End, they’re Jacob’s men, they’ll be better equipped and better trained.”

An owl could be heard screeching in the distance, searching for it’s roost in the attic of the building behind them and as the sun continued to rise she looked over at the man beside her, “It’s the best chance we have at least some sort of secured communication -- even if it’s just within the county, it’ll let people get in contact with family, make sure they’re safe and give us a secure way to contact each other that the Peggies can’t listen in on.” She sighs, stretching her legs out in front of her, “It’ll keep everyone just a little bit safer.”

Fred snorted and shook his head, “You poor idealistic bastard, you really are just doing this on principal aren’t you?” She nodded and patted Boomer on the head before heading into the cabin to catch some rest herself leaning against the doorframe as Fred continued, “I’ll wake you guys up in six hours, alright? Sleep tight, dep. God knows we’ll all need it.”


	8. Chapter Seven: Boondocks

Late afternoon had fallen before they had started on the hiking trails once more, Sharky, Fred and herself had all gotten enough sleep to continue their trek, Boomer, however was the only one among them who seemed genuinely excited for the journey. Fred and Sharky made the journey enjoyable with tales of their childhoods in Hope County -- and evidently the lives of every other resident, as is the case with most small populated areas. 

Her favorite, Bridget decided, was the one where Sharky had ended up skinny dipping in the lake in the middle of the Whitetails, had his clothes stolen by Hurk and therefore had to streak ten miles back to the ranger station where he, covered in mosquito bites had to explain his predicament to the amused park rangers. “They ended up driving me back to my place, and I got the longest lecture you should never get as a twenty year old man.

“And what about you, dep? No embarrassing stories of childhood?” Fred was still laughing from Sharky’s story, but offered none of his own, thinking of his family maybe, or is worried about what they’re going to do, all of which are viable or honestly, not wanting to share embarrassing childhood stories with strangers to cope with the physical and mental abuses that they’d recently suffered is also, really understandable in her fucking opinion. 

She hummed for a moment, ducking under a low branch as night began to fall across the the Whitetail Mountains, “I got stuck upside down in a tree once?” No boos or words of discouragement were heard, so evidently; it appeared embarrassing enough to tell. “We were out hiking for a weekend and there was this big maple tree outside the cabin we were staying in and twelve year old me was like, “I’ve never climbed a tree that large before!” and then attempted to, and about… a third of the way up the trunk when the branches start coming out my ankle got caught and I… uh… slipped.” Both men laughed, “And ended up hanging upside down from like a forty foot tree for like a half hour while my whole extended family laughed and took pictures, eventually people from the other cabins came out and we got a park ranger to come and help get me down… and the fire department. I’m pretty sure there’s a whole photo album at home just of me, upside down, in that one particular tree. It was the most thrilling part of our vacation and afterwards I got sat down by the park ranger and told that I should never climb trees like that if I’m not confident in my own abilities because I can put myself and the people around me in danger.” She clears her throat and coughs, her neck getting warm at the memory, “And it’s why I never applied to be a park ranger.”

“Gotta watch out for those park rangers, they’re the real sneaky ones,” It was said under his breath, but Sharky’s words sent the three of them into another bout of laughter. And she’s back in the warm summer days before the cult lost it’s shit; hiking through these paths with the kids in the youth group or with Will and telling just enough stories to fill the silence but still enjoy the wilderness around them. It’s startling to her how easy it was to forget just how much had changed in the week and a half since the botched arrest on Joseph Seed.

As night fell, however, the mood on the mountain changed, the walk up to PIN-K0 itself  was intimidating enough, the word KILL scrawled across the barren rockface in red, what Bridget assumed was paint was enough to set the mood of the entire night -- it could be seen from miles away, especially with the light of the small camp shining up against the rock and the shadows of the cultists flickering against the rock. “You sure you’re ready for this, Dep?”

A steadying breath, “Yeah. Yeah. We got this.” Bridget looked back at her three companions, “We got this, right?” Immediately she received an encouraging bark from Boomer and a small smile appeared on her face and she patted the top of his head.

“Hell yeah, Dep. We’re gonna burn the motherfucking house down.” He laughs, “Maybe uh, not literally this time though, I don’t think your hair could take it.”

“Thank you for that, Sharky.” Her voice was dry but the three of them were smiling, and after a moment she continued, eyes back on the small cabin in front of them, “So, what, a small initial compound used to put the station above on alert?”

“Probably.” Fred responded this time, nodding, his eyes fixed solidly to the cabin in front of them, “I wouldn’t think that there’d be more than ten of them in there. But we should try to make it quiet, unless we want the whole radio station in high alert.”

“Sounds like the best plan. One on each side and then one from the back?” The three of them nodded to each other, each man taking one side and Bridget sneaking to the back with Boomer at her heels and as soon as the last light went out in the cabin, the four of them started their attack.

 

* * *

 

Leaning against the console, eyes searching for something, anything familiar amongst the thousand buttons that are glittering back at her, a shaking, blood covered hand reaches for the radio at her side, “For the record, Dutch. I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.” A chuckle crackles over the static as Bridget is joined by Fred at the large console at the center of the compound, and she can’t help but frown at how drowned out Dutch’s voice is by the static this far away -- it was the reason they were here, and yet, the lack of instruction was going to make this… unfathomably difficult. “If we’re climbing radio towers, I’m volunteering you for hell duty.” There was nothing here to explain how to fix what the cult broke. Understandable. It’s not like they’d want someone to wander in, murder their people and then fix their two years worth of fucking up cell and radio signals. Regardless, it was difficult not to feel frustrated. Especially after the fight they undertook to get here.

A grimace appears on the man’s face as he groans, “I don’t think so Dep, I gotta family to go back to,” She turns, while rooting through the drawers in front of her to glare at him, it was a fair point but her stomach churns at the thought of having to climb more towers and the thought of ending up as little more than a smear on the rocks beneath them, “You and Sharky are free to fight over the honors of who gets to go climb the ridiculously high radio towers.” Slamming another drawer in she sighs, and begins wandering over to the large filing cabinets that the cult had overturned, “What are you even looking for anyway?” Fred stepped over the body of one of the Chosen who had unfortunately met his end at the hands of Bridget’s aluminum bat that had been discarded just inches away and instead decided to focus his attention on the  _ ONLY YOU _ pamphlet and posters that seem to litter the compound.

“A ‘restarting your radio and cell signal for dummies’? Perhaps?” There was a sigh of frustration -- the entire cabinets had been emptied, and she found herself slamming the drawers,  _ of course it wouldn’t be this easy,  _ “Fuck.” Taking a shaking breath she steadied herself against the back wall of the silo and slid down, pulling herself into her knees, giving herself to the count of five, to calm down, to focus on what’s important here. “Maybe there’s something in one of the other buildings or up with the equipment itself, we have time, and we’ve taken care of the problems here -- at least for now. And… If worst comes to worst, we’ll take care of the bodies and spend the night here.”

“That sounds like a shitty plan, dep.” She snorted and looked up from her spot on the floor to where Sharky stood leaning against the doorframe, looking a little worse for wear and honestly, ready for a nap, and after an entire evening of hiking and fighting and now… fixing the radio frequencies. The man definitely deserved a nap, especially after having to have put up with her shenanigans for the last forty-eight hours.

“I’m open to suggestions if you’ve got ‘em, Boshaw. God knows I’m not the brains of this operation,” Both Sharky and Fred laugh as her own hands ran through half burnt hair in frustration as her eyes continued to scan papers forgotten on the ground.

“Have you considered blowing up their satellite dishes to stop whatever their broadcasting and then we can… I dunno. Turn it off and turn it back on again?” The three of them blink at each other, slowly turning from one to the other until Boomer comes on and flops down on Bridget’s feet, seeming to end the silent conversation with a sigh from all three of the people there. 

Running a hand through Boomer’s fur, scratching right behind his ear Bridget nods,“That…” She hadn’t even noticed the additional arrays at the top of the buildings, the man is definitely exceptional and she’s more thankful than ever to have him around, “Is an excellent plan, Sharky.” There’s a smile at that and he nods before meandering back outside. Walking over Fred reaches a hand out to pull her up and she shakes her head and mumbles, “It’s a million times better than sitting here trying to find papers that might not even exist any longer, anyway.”

From outside she could hear Sharky shout, “You’re damn right, Campion, now get a move on! I’d like to get some sleep tonight!” And as Boomer, Fred and Bridget they were greeted by the carnage that they had left outside -- a burnt out building, small craters of explosions and the small groupings of bodies that seemed to be strewn throughout the compound. 

“I’ll take the one that we’ll have to grapple up to,” Fred nodded, meandering his way into the opposing building with Sharky while Bridget began the climb upward. “So,” the words echoed over the mountaintops, “We throw the dynamite on the count of five and jump? That’s the plan?”

“Pretty much, just get yourself somewhere safe, Dep.” It was Sharky’s voice and then the three of them counted down together before lighting, throwing and jumping. The crunch of her knees on the hard ground below her made her groan and collapse backwards as the explosions echoed down the mountains, “I think that went pretty well if I do say so myself, much better than when you threw the proximity explosive.” 

“Thanks guys,” A sheepish smile appeared on Bridget’s face as she’s pulled to her feet once again by both guys, “I mean… It took out the guy with the LMG didn’t it? And you’re fine. No loss of limbs or other bodily injuries other that a few scrapes and bruises.”

“Only because I booked it for the other side of the silo! I totally would have ate fucking dirt if I had stayed there.” The sight was impressive -- Bridget shouting for him to move while throwing the device directly at the heavily armored cult member while she dove the opposite way. Debris and armor flew everywhere as red colored the silo behind them, both Sharky and Bridget rose only to continue to be shot at, covered in dirt and blood all the while, Fred is sitting back with his sniper rifle absolutely losing it at the two of them who would be absolutely lost without him. Picking off the sniper who had moved to get a better view of the deputy. Definitely lost without him. Or, at the very least, dead.

“...Fair. And duly noted for next time.” Both men groaned. Next time. Because, yes, certainly there would be a next time, and a time after that. Well, at least if the cult didn’t kill the three of them, Bridget had a pretty fair chance at it if the kept leaving explosives all over the place. Perhaps that’s their nefarious plan all along. She can see Joseph now, ‘ _Don’t worry about the deputy, she likes shiny explosive things, just leave dynamite and the like out and she’ll take care of herself for us’_ Bridget scoffed at her own thoughts, “...Now. Let’s go see about rebooting everything in here and hoping for the best because honestly… I don’t think it can get much worse.”

Morning had taken the mountains by the time the three of them, and Boomer, had managed to reset the radio towers, Fred had quickly wandered off, going to try to call his family on a cell phone that hasn’t worked properly in months, the excitement in his voice at hearing his children’s voices was so genuine it put a smile on Bridget’s face -- it was still only a single bar and no high speed connection. There’d be no contacting anywhere else, the Peggies had to have shunted the connections elsewhere but… at least families had that now. 

Her own radio which had been eerily silent had crackled back to life, picking up signals across the county -- she could get in contact with Fall’s End or the Jail or Dutch with ease now. She turned it off, because right now, she just wanted to bask in the success the four of them had accomplished here. Sitting on the back stairs with Boomer’s head on her lap she leaned back, listening to the excitement in Fred’s voice as he speaks to his own wife and kids from outside the building.

Taking a seat beside her, Sharky puts his hat on his knee and runs a hand through the back of his hair, “You know, we did good here, Dep. And, I uh, appreciate you listening to me. A lot of people would’ve just dismissed me or ignored my suggestions and just brought me along for a distraction.”

“I’m new to all of this, so honestly, I’ll take all the help I can get. Plus, I don’t think any sort of police or military training or… any training really covers this sort of mess.” She gestured vaguely with her hands while giving Sharky a genuine smile, he had been a bigger help than he’d ever realize, even if the two of them would probably be the end of all wildlife in Montana if the fires they started had anything to say about it, “So thank you, for you know, letting me almost blow you up. Think of it as payback for burning my hair off. It took me two years to grow it out.”

He laughs, “You got that right. Shit like this isn’t supposed to happen here, and here we are.” He groaned, “You really aren’t going to let that go?” She let out a quiet ‘nope’ and he rolled his eyes and she laughed, “I don’t think almost getting blown up is the same is getting your hair burnt off.”

“You’re right. One doesn’t do any damage while the other has a coarse icky feel and smell of burnt charcoal.” He snorts and elbows her in the side, eliciting a groan as he hits her right in the center of one of the many bruises that litter her body, “Oh my god, what have I done to deserve this sort of abuse?”

“Be an ass.” It was matter of fact and Bridget snorted as she punched him in the side, only to have her head playfully pushed in return.

“...Fair.” The two of them laugh as Boomer makes himself comfortable across both of their laps and Fred takes a seat on a half broken lawn chair seemingly abandoned in the corner of the room, “So, any news from the Valley?”

“Nothing good,” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “John’s putting more pressure on the holdouts -- the Rye’s especially and the Armstrong girl. Jerome’s worried they’re going to try to burn them out of their homes soon, leave people with nowhere to go, and Fall’s End isn’t big enough to keep everyone.”

“Well, now that communications are back up we can definitely go see if we can help, push back against the worst of it, maybe give the Rye’s and Grace some breathing room.” Bridget doesn’t want to go back, not really, she’s not ready. So she immediately backpedals,“I can hang back here, wait for people to come and reinforce the radio tower so that we don’t lose it to Jacob’s men, and lose what little footing that we’ve gained with the radio stability.”

As if he was summoned, the radio in the main room of the radio station crackled to life, “There is someone out there pretending to be a soldier.” And the three of them stood, walking into the room to stare in fascination at the radio and shared concerned glances, each wondering if he could in fact hear them, “They are killing our brothers and sisters and putting this project in jeopardy. I want this coward to know that they have my attention…” Both men’s eyes turned to her now, and she sucked a breath in through her teeth, brain running a mile a minute, thinking of options, deciding on the best option of how exactly to handle this situation, stay or run, stay or run, “My hunters are coming for you. There’s nowhere you can run.”

“You think you could slip away?” It was Fred who responded first, he broke her out of the panic that had started welling up in her chest. “You know the trails, get on one and run back to the Valley, we’ve already got people on the way from the Jail to hold this place, Sharky and I can stay until they get here and provide a distraction for the Chosen.”

“Fuck that, she should stay, they’ll just chase her down on ATVs and she’ll end up wherever the fuck Jacob wants her anyway, at least if she stays we can try to stop them.” She could hear the frustration in Sharky’s voice. The idea of running of leaving was abhorrent to him, especially when they could all stay and protect each other.

_ Stay or run. Stay or run. Stay or run. _

_ “Run.” _ The voice in her head was clear.

She couldn’t risk their lives, “You guys stay here, I’m going to lead them away, I’m one person of this… Resistance. But if we keep the towers, keep communication up between all of us. Communication that they can’t track it’ll give us an advantage.” She dropped her pack, leaving all but the basics there - her radio, a climbing axe, a pistol, a rope and some water is all she was taking. Giving both men and Boomer a tight hug she turned, “I promise I’ll be alright. See you guys soon.”

[NEW COLLECTIBLE DISCOVERED] _In the front pocket of the bag she left behind, a cellphone lay turned off, memories that had been filmed a lifetime ago left forgotten -- held for a time where no one needed to run or worry for their safety. Sharky and Fred both look at it and hold their breath, hoping for the Deputy’s safe return._


	9. Chapter Eight: In My Blood

The panic in his own chest was unsettling, especially as he had just finished a confession -- especially after it had gone so well, normally it was confidence or a sense of self-fulfillment, but this anxiety started gnawing, and refused to abate. It was so misplaced and soon rose, stomach churning, chest aching, hand shaking and his breathing became shallow. In his quarters of his bunker John Seed fell onto his bed, white knuckling the sheets of the bed as he searched for something, anything to root himself to this moment of time. That’s when he heard their voice.

“ _ Stay or run. Stay or run. Stay or run.” _

He didn’t think it purposeful, that they meant to ask, but that subconsciously, whatever they were facing it lead them to him and without thinking, he selfishly replied,  _ “Run.” _ And as quickly as the panic and fear had washed over him it was gone, and what was left was a pit of concern in his stomach. He wanted to pry, but knew that if they were  _ actually in danger _ it would only be a distraction. A thousand scenarios played over in his mind -- that they were running from someone, whoever hurt them originally to put them in this position with him. Or that they had gotten in with a poor crowd and that they was running to avoid being caught by the police or by whatever criminals they had been caught with. Or maybe they were protesting somewhere, and violence broke out and they were trying to decide if they should stay and hold their ground…

But… He knew so little of them. They were from a small town and took roadtrips, the roadtrips made him assume US. Their conversations also talked about how they were hours away from an IKEA, he scoffed, most places in America were hours away from an IKEA so it doesn’t particularly narrow it down. They don’t go out and party, and would rather spend time with close friends… It doesn’t paint a criminal picture but other than that… He isn’t sure. But they’re running and there isn’t anything he can do to help them.

It’s a shame, really. He had even thought of a story to share this time when they spoke again, taking deep breaths he returned to his confessional, cleaning up the remaining mess and making sure replace all of the equipment so that the faithful can replace the flowers and other decorations without disturbing his own materials. Concern still gnawed at him, he felt no more though, no panic or fear or loss or any of the other things that he had felt since that day a week and a half ago. It should have put his mind at ease, knowing that nothing horrible must’ve happened, otherwise he’s certain he would have felt it.

The thought does not make him feel better.

Stepping outside the bunker, into the fresh air of the valley made the anxiety abate, at least a little bit and the drive back to his ranch helped to clear his mind. There was no reason for him to worry, there wasn’t nearly enough information for him to go on to end up in a panic about what happened earlier. Things were progressing well -- Joseph was pleased with how the Project had come together since the Reaping had started, and he couldn’t help the pride that welled up in his chest at the thought, even with the unexpected hiccup with the Deputy freeing Fall’s End.

It was easier now, his days routine between confessions and maintaining control of the Valley was much easier with the trouble making Deputy having disappeared from his region; there were reports from Faith; she had taken the Jail back explosions and angels and whatever else his  _ little sister  _ could throw at the woman be damned. At least now, the failure was not only his own -- the Deputy looked to be a problem for the entire Project, not a single Herald. 

 

* * *

 

The concern for his… friend returned after six days of silence. Normally there was something, a witty comment upon waking up or a story or something to remind him that they’re there and not leaving him any time soon and yet… Nothing. Not a single word. And he had asked. At least, he thought he did. Before bed, waking up, it’d be a quiet “ _ Are you alright? _ ” But it was always there and the words seemed to echo hollowly in his chest and left concern in its place. The concern worsened before bed, lying in the dark room he allowed his mind to wander, to think, what if in fact, his… friend had died. What if he was wrong all those days ago and never learned any more about them?

What if they were alone? If they took his advice and ran and ended up dying alone, in a ditch somewhere thinking that the only person who knew them wanted them to do this. His stomach churned and he had to try again, “ _ Are you alright? _ ” He repeated it, again and again and again and still… nothing. And by the time that sleep took him that night the anxiety that pooled so deeply in his stomach was certain to make more than him sick that when the words he had so longed to hear echoed in his mind, they left him with only dread. 

_ “Please don’t leave me here to die.” _

Music echoed through the smoke and fire. “I told you god wouldn’t let you take me.” Straps pressed into his chest as he tried to reach out and grab the headset -- trying to tell someone anyone of the fire of the smoke, but the straps cut into his shoulders, pushing him back into his chair as his eyes locked onto ones hidden behind amber lenses, indignant fury courses through him as a woman’s voice, drowned out by the music he can’t seem to make out -- it was interrupted by the man once again, “Everything is just fine here. No need to call anyone.” 

His fingers were itching to reach out and choke the words out of the amber tinted man’s throat, “Yes Father, praise be to you.” Betrayal. This wasn’t supposed to happen! None of this was supposed to happen! The volume of the unintelligible music increases with his fury.

The amber man gets closer and whispers, “No one is coming to save you.” He thrashes against his restraints, he’d kill them all for this, nails digging into his palms bringing blood and dirt to the surface and before he could stop it, a scream bubbled up from the bottom of his chest and those surrounding him begin to wake with his screaming as the amber man escapes from the helicopter, leaving the five of them to burn.

“Father! God has kept you under the shadows of his wings.” Panic broke out amongst the group stuck in the burning helicopter, shouts and grunts were drowned out by the crescendoing music as the people in white helped the amber tinted man escape from the wreckage. A holy man who is willing to let people burn. There’s a scoff in his chest, he isn’t the first, and certainly, not the last person and yet...

“The first seal has been broken. The collapse has begun.” Through the smoke, the amber tinted man stood, arms raised watching the people in front of him in judgement, and he’s fighting against the bonds that hold him once more, fingers fighting against the straps that hold him in place, searching for the clasps, “We will take what we need.” Her jerked against the harness, music reverberating in his chest, teeth bared, “We will preserve what we have. We will kill all those who stand in our way. These the harbingers of doom will see the truth. Begin the reaping!”

A flurry a movement, blurred by the smoke and flame but he watched as those around him disappeared. Flames licked through the metal and desperation itched through his fingers as he searched in desperation for the means to free himself from those seats. Between the smoke and his shouts his lungs and throat ached. “Let them burn. It is god’s will. It is their punishment.” he watches as the man in front of him escapes, abandoning them.

His hands, which had fumbled for so long finally unlatched his restraints and he was loose and instead of his heart pounding in his ears it was this unintelligible song and a voice, the voice, the voice that’s filled his head for a week, that’s so familiar to him now tells him to run and so he did. Feet unsteady on the mulch of the forest floor he found himself slipping, falling face first into the sticks and brambles beneath him, the sound of gunfire above his head takes his breath away.

_ Only you can make all this world seem right _

There’s a gunshot -- and he finds himself awake, breathing heavily as the echoes of the gunfire resound through the valley as the shouts from the world below his bedroom pull him from that dream world that didn’t feel much like a dream at all. Covered in a cold sweat, shaking hands bring palms up to rub his eyes, to remove the images that were now seared into his memory, John Seed cannot help but feel disoriented. It all seemed too real and as he stood to investigate the gunshot and ensuing shouts, the world around him spun and he attempted to grab ahold of anything that would ground him to the present moment. Stumbling from room to room he feels like the dream still has a hold of him, like he’s sleep drunk and trying to fight off these memories that won’t seem to go away. 

The perpetrator is caught and dealt with long before John reaches the balcony -- he hears the quick successive shots that confirm that whomever it was is now dead and probably thrown into the river. He’s certain to get a report from the Chosen so it’s best to shake this feeling now. The cold Montana night woke him from the remnants of the dream, “It wasn’t real.” The words more mumbled to himself than anything else as he picks at his nail beds. “It couldn’t have been real.” A shaky exhale. But it felt so real.

“Sir.” He turned, watching as the chosen strides up the stairs to the balcony, “The resistance that the valley has put together is getting bolder, some kid strode into the compound and managed to kill three of our men before we could subdue them. Regardless, he’s been taken care of.”

There’s a sharpness returning to him now, “Focus your patrols on the exterior, the last thing we need is for someone to take this place for the resistance.” It was snapped and as quickly as the Chosen had appeared he disappeared without another word, shrunken slightly from the verbal jab, leaving John to his thoughts once more.

Whatever the hell that dream was, John was absolutely certain of one thing, the situation for Eden’s Gate was about to get absolutely fucked.


	10. Chapter Nine: Burning House

The world around her was little more than a blur before she finds herself shoved into a chair, breath knocked out of her at the strength of whomever was behind it, “You shouldn’t have come for me.” Bridget Campion’s head tilted as her world came back into focus, well, as back into focus as it could without her glasses which she distinctly remembers hearing crunch under the boot of one of the Chosen who dragged her here. It was Pratt. And she couldn’t help but want to crack a smile,  _ god, she wishes she was noble enough to say he was the reason she came. _ But before she could say a word he had disappeared from her vision.

“The world is weak.” Her head lulled eyes refusing to meet the man who stood at the front, pacing, eyeing each and every one of the people in this room up for all they’re worth. She wanted to scoff but her whole body was aching from the assault she had undergone at the hands of the Chosen, none of them could be worth much if they were all in the state she was in. “Soft.” He continues to prowl, flanked by two Chosen and her thoughts are so scrambled, definitely a concussion at the very least, that the idea of putting words together, “We have forgotten what it is to be strong.” To tell whoever this was what a crock of shit he was spewing, it seemed… unimaginable right now. Currently, she was focused on staying awake. Knowing that if she sleeps, she very well might not wake up again, and she had a promise to keep to a few good men.

The man’s fingers pressed together as he paced in front of his captive audience, the  _ ‘You Are Meat’  _ logos scrawled everywhere at least made sense now, with the man with the permanent scowl,  “You know our heroes used to be gods… and now our heroes are godless. Weak… Feeble…. Diseased.” Bridget twisted her head, hoping to get her neck to pop, to alleviate some of the stress built up there,  _ she knew his name, what was his name… Joseph… no. That was the man with the amber tinted glasses. John… no. That was the man who ordered the attack on Fall’s End that killed Will. It starts with ‘J’ but what... _ “We let the weak dictate to the powerful and then we are shocked to find ourselves adrift.” 

Her neck popped, a singular piece of relief in her aching body as the man with the scowl presses his fingers tighter, “But history knows the value of sacrifice.” His voice lowered as he continued to prowl between the three members of his captive audience, “Of culling the herd so that it stays strong.” She tests the strength of her bonds and finds no give in the ropes around her hands, “Over and over, the lives of the many outweigh the lives of the fews this is how we survived. And we’ve forgotten…”  _ Jericho? _ “and now, the bill has come due.” He stood in front of her now, with the same condescending eyes that had stared her down in that helicopter a week ago and through the daze her hands balled into fists, a snarl present on her face as she stares down a man with the same eyes that caused all of this, “Now, the Collapse is upon us and this time the lives of the few outweigh the lives of the many. And when a nation that has never known hunger or desperation descends into madness,” He smirks, and she can assume he’s amused with the fury in her veins that wells up in spite of the pain she finds herself in. “we’ll be ready.”  _ Jonah, Jonathan, Joshua, why the fuck are there so many biblical names that start with J?  _  “We will cull the herd.”  _ Jacob _ . “We will do what needs to be done.” The Chosen have disappeared. He’s going to kill her, he knows exactly who she is and he’s going to shoot her in the fucking head right now and there’s nothing she can do about it and as the panic sets in she jerks against her bonds. Not like this. Please, god, not like this.

Her eyes follow his hands, adrenaline ready to make her shove herself forward, perhaps push him off balance long enough to… he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny music box. Too large of fingers twist the turnkey and when he opens it… Pain. Unintelligible. Unimaginable pain lances through her and she screams. She will make sure he remembers this. Then, her whole world goes black.

 

* * *

 

She’s home. In her warm comfortable bed with the sun managing to peek in through the slight crack in the curtains, it was warm against the cold air of the cabin on her skin. Music drifted through the quiet home, it’s a song she’s heard before, a song her grandmother would play in her living room on a record player when she was a child. With a blanket wrapped around her like a shawl Bridget Campion made her way towards the music, towards her kitchen and there stands Will, leaning over the stove with breakfast half made and as he turns, his eyes ashen blue while his mouth sinks in, purpling as his skin greys and when he opens his mouth, the music from the invisible record player screeches past teeth that no longer exist, he reaches out for her with twisted broken fingers. She retreats, and fingers wrap around a gun she didn’t even know existed and pulls the trigger.

A voice echoes in the back of her head as she throws the pistol across the room, a shriek piercing through her throat as she realizes just what she’s done. “Good.”

Eyes open as she finds herself back in her bed once more, and panic fills her chest, “What the fuck is this?” Honestly, at this point, Bridget isn’t even sure who she’s talking to, herself, whoever is listening to her while she’s on these fucking drug hallucinations? Why not all of the above. There’s a gun on her bedside table, but she refuses to pick it up, and instead, walks out to the kitchen. She’s ready this time, and when he turns, she sees his death, sees herself burying him, sees everything in those ashen blue eyes and collapses onto the ground, covering her ears as the screeching music invades her ears once more. But she will not -- will not, kill him. She refuses to watch him die again. Never again. 

 

Pain. Inconceivable pain rushes through her body. That was not the answer whatever this was wanted.

“You’re weak.” Even as everything fades to black with her hands clutching her ears, the music refuses to fade, it gets louder, crescendoing in her ears and she wishes she could crawl into a corner and cry.

Before she could, however, she finds herself back in the bedroom.  _ There is no escape. _ The music was even louder now, the noise now rivaled that of the concerts she attended and she refused to move from the bed, burying her head into the pillows while she covers her ears. Screaming into them as the pain lances across her body once more. She knows the only time she finds relief is when she kills Will, but she will refuse. The pain lances through her skull this time; a migraine now, hammering right behind her eyes and she curled up tighter, sobbing into her pillows. Maybe he should have killed her. It would have been better than this…

Bridget’s head lulled as she awoke from the drug induced stupor, throat burning, recognition hit her that her screams must not have been in her head. Eyes meander lazily across the room, though blurry she sees the two other people who were originally in the room with her, but both of them weren’t moving, it’s hard to tell if they’re breathing, everything beyond her is so blurry but there’s no movement in their arms or legs -- she thinks. The exhale was accompanied by her shaking her leg while clenching her hands into fists; what the fuck was going on here? How was she going to get out? But before she could continue on that thought, the music started fading into her room again and she could feel herself slipping under the current of the song that invaded the room.

 

* * *

 

The acrid smell of decomposing bodies and bodily fluids is what woke her; even if she was too exhausted to move, her eyes scanned the room again. Her companions were definitely dead.  _ Shit _ .  It was hard to tell how long it had been, a day? A week? Two weeks? It was unlikely to be more than a week. The intravenous tap that had been used to pump her full of whatever it was to cause those reactions had been removed about halfway through the dozen of periods of consciousness that she had filtered through. And a person can only go…  _ everything was so fuzzy and remembering is hard… _ three days without water and seeing as how she’s not dead yet-- A slamming door grabs her attention, but the voices themselves are little more than just buzzing in her ear at this point. 

She ignored them. Probably just the Chosen again, to see if she had finally died or if she had completed Jacob’s little test. Her whole body ached, between the bouts of consciousness rebellion flooded her and she ended up tilting the chair on its side, smashing her still bruised body on the floor in the hopes of breaking the chair, but instead, she was left there; head dangling while bruised ribs pressed harder into her side. A reminder of her failure. “What a mess. Wheaty, check those chairs.”

That… was not the voice of one of Jacob’s Chosen, and her eyes darted up, maybe she wouldn’t die here. Music still played in the background -- it needed to be turned off, she would make it turn off before she saw red again and… and… This place was making a monster out of her.  “Jesus the smell.” She wanted to scream, to even say something but her throat burned, too dry make a sound and too sore from days of screaming. 

“Been stewing in their own filth for days.” A thought she tried to ignore from her place on the ground, now in the forefront of her mind thanks to the voice that managed to echo over the music that refused to leave her head, “Walker, get some windows open.” They were slow in their work, careful as they checked the dead bodies in front of her. Understandable to her now, especially after all of this, “Someone shut that music off!”

“Christ, it’s Sully. When did they get him?” Everything was so fuzzy, she remembers… she remembers, he was there before her. There before her the day they took the radio towers. They would know how long it had been, right? “Why are we even bothering with this?” They wouldn’t leave her here in this limbo waiting for her to die of dehydration. “They’re all dead.”  _ Please don’t leave me here to die. _ A strangled sound escapes her, not a scream or a cry but a hoarse high pitched note that makes all the men turn. Please God. Don’t let them think it was a Peggie.

The man giving the orders is the first to regain his wits, and snaps back, “Well check them anyway!” And a moment of relief washes over her after the extended panic. She would kiss him if she wasn’t… Well… Wasn’t in such a sorry state as this.

“Why am I always stuck on corpse duty?” Her chair is moved, put back on its four legs for the man in front of her to meet her panicked, horror filled gaze only to let go of the chair, “Holy shit!” It sent her careening backwards, a rush of air leaving her lungs at the new pain that blossomed from her back. “Oh fuck!”

“A live one!” And with that, all of the men in the room walk over to help get her upright again and she blinks as she recognizes the face of the man in front of her, no way, there was no way, after everything she had done, everything she had seen since she had been strapped to this fucking chair of course the man who would rescue her would be Will’s best friend. “Walker go get the truck!” He looked haggard now, more haggard than he had in the photos of him and Will hanging in their home but it was hard not to recognize his eyes, they hadn’t changed at all since those photographs were taken.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” She groaned at the younger man, shaking her head. It wasn’t his fault.

“Gimme a hand, kid.” The two of them cut her bonds and there was a long pause, the  _ kid _ as Eli called him obviously wanted to ask a question, but Eli was too focused on the woman in front of him; covered in bruises and welts, with glasses broken and discarded somewhere on the mountain while her whole body was soaked in blood and whatever else was on the floor it was hard to recognize her and yet… “Bridget Campion?” She nodded, he recognized her from the corny phone background Will kept of her and exhaling he shook his head, “Holy shit, what the hell did you do to get yourself into this mess?” She groaned as they lifted her from the chair, each one taking an arm to help carry her out of the building, “Don’t worry, Whitetail’s gotcha now…” 

In her mind she promised him an answer. “We’re taking her back to the Wolf’s Den?” She promised to tell him about Will. About the radio tower. About the jail. Whatever he wanted to know--

“Where else?” But everything was getting fuzzy again, what she really wanted was for them to dump her in a stream, let her clean up before taking her… wherever he had said. The world spun instead.

“Tammy’s not gonna like this.” What? Bringing a half-dead woman who may or may not have irreparable mental damage done to her being brought in to one of the few Resistance strongholds, and people aren’t going to like it? What a surprise that is.

“Don’t worry about Tammy. She’ll be fine.” She smiles at the apparent eternal optimism, or at least, that Eli will be able to talk her down. As they descend the stairs towards the truck her world fades to black once more.

 

* * *

 

“Hey.” There’s a gentle hand shaking her awake, “Hey, we’re here.” Looking up she finds Eli pulling her up from the bed of the truck, “You probably want a shower and maybe some food before you get bombarded with questions…” He laughs wryly, “And Tammy.” She nodded and allowed herself to be led inside, towards a small shower room -- “There’s some spare clothes and towels inside the lockers; we’ll probably just toss what you’re wearing after…” 

Feeling like a mute she simply nodded again, but as he left, she quickly grabbed his wrist, “Eli…” Her throat ached, but she smiled and squeezed his hands tightly, “Thank you.” He smiles, balefully and nods, before quickly leaving her to her own devices in the shower room.

As the door snapped shut behind him, Bridget braced herself on the wall and slid down, slowly stripping out of the individual pieces of clothing -- a boot first, slamming into the ground followed by a sock, her eyes were focused on the myriad of bruises that dotted every inch of her body; bursts of yellow and blue and black and purple and cuts that ranged from scrapes to deep cuts. Her jeans rolled off, caked in blood and sweat, she threw them to the other side of the bathroom.

Pulling her bare legs up to her chest she stared at the jeans, it all seemed so unreal. That she was alive… That any of that had actually happened… That she had spent days… killing -- no, murdering the man she loved in order to avoid the excruciating pain that refusing would bring. A laugh barked out, it took him less than a week to break her down, to turn her against the people she loved and even with all of that; she feels Nothing. T-shirt, bra and she fights with the faucet until she manages to get a warm spray coming out of the shower head above her.

By the time she had finished, redressed and returned to the rest of the underground bunker,  _ The Kid _ , Wheaty, she thinks, she repeats the name three times. She won’t remember it. Not while this exhausted, leads her to the couch with a bottle of water in his other hand, “I am so sorry about dropping you,” He hands her the bottle and she waves him off, he still had nothing to apologize for. As she lays there, praying for sleep to take her but also to God to keep the nightmares away she hears a familiar voice inside her head,  _ “Are you okay?” _

_ “No.”  _ She whispers it out loud, needing to remind herself more than ever before,  _ “But I’m alive.” _

 


	11. Chapter Ten: Better Dig Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised a slow burn and a slow burn you shall have -- I hope you guys are enjoying it so far, I know that I've been enjoying writing it! Make sure to leave some comments down below or hit me up on my Tumblr if you want to know more about Bridget or my plans for the future for this absolute mess.

_ “What the hell happened to you?” _

She hesitated. Unsure of how to explain what happened to her, unsure of  **_what_ ** happened to her. Telling the person in her head that she had been kidnapped, classically conditioned to kill people -- specifically breaking emotional ties, and she was dizzy again. Thinking about it hurt and she clutched her head with her hand free of the water bottle that Wheaty had given her.  _ “I… found myself caught up in something.” _

_ “No shit.”  _ The words were sharp, and she could feel their concern churn in her stomach, nausea appearing even though she hasn’t eaten in days. _ “You thought you were going to die.”  _ They were softer now, it made her fidget with the hem of the Whitetail Militia shirt she had borrowed -- she wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Yes, she absolutely thought she was going to die, and as afraid as she was, there was acceptance in it as well.  _ “How the hell do you go from laughing and telling me terrible stories to almost dying?” _

You try living with a fucking cult that wants to subjugate an entire county to its beliefs. She wanted to snap at them, to recoil from the judgement, they weren’t here -- and someone had to try to keep people safe.  _ “I -- I’m tired.”  _ It was such a cop out, but her mind was still so hazy and she didn’t want to say anything to hurt them,  _ “I promise, I’m somewhere safe now and I’ll be better soon. Don’t worry so much.” _

_ “Take care of yourself,”  _ It was soft and she found herself absentmindedly running her fingers up the bottle in her hand,  _ “And don’t do anything stupid again. I don’t know if I could take that level of concern again.” _

Bridget shrugged, eyes focused on the water bottle that she decided to peel the label off of,  _ “I make no promises.”  _ Irritation now, she smiled -- but it was an honest answer, and she wouldn’t lie to them. Not after what they must have gone through over the last week. It wouldn’t be fair to them if she made promises that she knew she couldn’t keep, especially with the looming threat of what Jacob Seed had done to her.

There was a scoff,  _ “You can’t ever make this easy, can you?” _ She shook her head, leaving the label in a small pile on the side table by the couch where she currently sat. The person sighed, and in her mind's eye she could see them shaking their head, obviously frustrated with her obtuse answers followed by refusing to tell them she’ll be safe.

She decided on a joke, perhaps it would lighten the mood, or at least stop the churning of emotions in her stomach,  _ “Where would the fun in that be?” _

_ “Get some rest.” _ And with that, she was alone again, dropping her water bottle on the table next to her scraps she turns to lie on the couch, eyes fixed on the scuff marks that line the floor. She needed to sleep, to unscramble her brain and help control the most recent damage done by the cult.

 

* * *

 

There’s radio chatter in the background, she can’t make it out through the echoes of the underground bunker but the fact that the signal is strong, and the person talking seemed clear enough is a good sign, that the Cult didn’t manage to take back the radio station after her capture. She shifted on the sofa, everything still blurry and she reaches for glasses the aren’t there -- her mind flashes back to the dreams, or reaching for the gun on her nightstand and pulls back immediately. Not again. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” Her head spun as she tried to locate the voice, a woman, standing over the end of the leather couch, peering down at her before turning back to Eli and Wheaty.

“Now hold on.” Eli was behind her, she could hear his voice, but it still hurt too much to move, so instead, she listened, while counting the ceiling tiles, “Wheaty and I agreed--”

“Oh!” The woman turned, facing down the kid, “You agreed.”

If it were anything but a discussion about throwing her out like some stray dog they found in the rain, Bridget would have found the kid’s reaction comical to say the least, “Woah, woah, woah -- I was at best an impartial observer.” Wheaty, who had brought over food, quickly left it on the table beside her before backstepping; obviously not wanting to get in the middle of the confrontation between Eli and…. 

Tammy. “This is stupid,” The woman, who Bridget assumes is Tammy from the fuzzy memories of her rescue from the chair, points a finger at her while staring down Eli, “And this is dangerous.” Until… until she could unscramble her brains and figure out a way to fix what Jacob was done Bridget had to admit that the woman was right. “You both know better.”

“What was I supposed to do?” Exasperation, there was obviously something left unsaid -- about her, about the situation, she couldn’t tell, he was still out of sight and she was still staring at the ceiling instead.

There was a scoff and the woman threw her hands in the air, “Leave her to die!”  _ Please don’t leave me here to die. _ The words echoed in her mind over and over again, and she could feel the desperation that she felt that day, lying there on the ground and thanks God that Eli had found it in him to at least take her with him. 

Eli let out a sigh, and Bridget couldn’t help but think about how tired he sounded, “Tammy.”

“They’d been in that room for God knows how long. I’ve seen what it does to people.” What was the word… She knew it. She read about it… Her eyes darted back down, flickering to the blurred face of the woman staring at her, “You haven’t. You can’t trust this one.” The negative stimulus provided and the relief when doing the preferred action. Everything was still so hazy, and it hurt to think that hard. Like someone was driving a nail through her eye socket. She’d think of it later. And how to fix it.

“That’s what everyone said about you. But luckily, I didn’t listen.” Bridget could hear the woman -- Tammy’s footsteps fade off, obviously, that was enough of a confrontation for the moment, but the footsteps stopped, she was hovering by the doorway, eyes shifting between Eli and the woman on the couch, “This is not up for discussion. We need her. That’s all there is to it.” Eli stepped forward with that, putting himself between Tammy and herself, and with it, Bridget could feel herself physically relax, “Understand?”

Footsteps returned and Bridget watched as the other woman walked out, to where, she didn’t know, but there was a genuine sense of relief in her, “You’re right. She took that real well.” The kid snorted while raising his hands, obviously unsure of what to do about the current situation.

“Out.” It was simple, and the younger male started to retreat out of the room. Leaving Eli to the left of the sofa, letting out a tired exhale and shaking his head as Wheaty wandered off.

“I didn’t even do anything.” He sounded like a pouting child, like the kids she helped teach in Fall’s End, it made her smile and laugh, making Eli turn back to her, concern on his features, even if she couldn’t see it.

“I meant what I said, we need you.” His eyes locked with hers, “I know what you and those two guys did up and PIN-K0, and we could use a lot more of that around here.” He pulls up a chair beside her, “Go back to sleep or hell, you must be starving, get something to eat, I’m sure the two of us have a lot of questions for one another, but it can wait for another day or two.”

 

* * *

 

It was slow. The fog sitting in the back of her mind took days to clear, and made things difficult, but the members of the Militia never pressed. Not even Eli, who, of all the people here definitely deserved the answers.

She was learning though.

The kid’s name is Wheaty, and he has a horrid taste in music. Seventeen. God, the kid isn’t even old enough to vote or drink and he’s out here checking dead bodies.

Tammy is the woman who deservedly doesn’t trust her, and interrogates those that the Whitetails manage to capture alive. She’s honest. Bridget likes her.

Walker has a stutter, but, he’s genuinely funny -- read a lot before it all went to shit so he makes sure to laugh at the literary jokes she makes.

Eating was difficult. She found out that she had been taken by Jacob’s men almost a week ago, not fed and only given an intravenous tap of whatever concoction it was to make her hallucinate like that… It left her malnourished and made her slowly add foods back into her diet.

By the fourth day she was back on her feet, shaky as they were, she managed to make it out to where Eli had set up a sort of War Room. Grabbing a barstool from the living area she sits herself beside him as he’s turned talking into the radio, she’s patient, hell, if he had waited four days for her to wake up, she could at least wait for him to finish talking. Her hands are on the barstool beneath her as she looks over the maps, seeing the Jail, PIN-K0 and Fall’s End all circled in green, and it puts a smile on her face.

“It’s good to see you up and around, Dep.” A genuine smile appeared on her face as he turned around to greet her, she waved from her seat and for a moment just watched as his eyes glanced across the plethora of maps strewn across the table.

“It’s good to be alive.” He laughed at that and nodded, hands searching across the maps, for what she didn’t know, but eventually they stopped and she found it -- the Radio Towers.

“We’ve gotten a strong radio signal back across Hope County -- it’s made communicating with fringe elements of the Whitetails that much easier.” A green circle now runs across PIN-K0’s location, his eyes meet hers again, “I hear we have you to thank for that.”

“Thank Sharky Bowshaw,” it was honest, he was such a common sense filter and with how tense they all were, she isn’t sure they would have gotten it up and running before... “without him, I’m not sure we would have gotten the signal back up.” She reigned herself back in.

“Bowshaw, huh?” There was a chuckle, and he made another note on the map, “Not a name I would have expected.”

“No one ever does, evidently.” A wry smile, but there was also concern -- she wanted to make sure that they were safe, that her running away didn’t cause them trouble or… worse, “Have you heard from him? Or a man named Fred Ambrose?”

“Fred called in; wanted to know if anyone had found you -- they said that they’re in Fall’s End, and that they’ll wait for you there,” She nodded, thankful that they were okay. That they weren’t taken like she was, her hands started picking at the scabs that littered her arms, “I would have figured that Will would be running with you,” Ashen blue eyes and purpled skin.  _ Only you. Only you. Only you. _ Her eyes met Eli’s, obvious concern in his gaze at the look of panic that overtook her.

No. She shook her head, trying to remove the image from her mind, that wasn’t the Will she wanted to remember.“Yeah… I’m sure he would be.” Her voice is quiet now, and she can’t meet his gaze, “He’s dead, Eli.”

“Dead?” There was a recoil, he ended up leaning on the counters behind him, head shaking as the news fully hit him. She loved him, but Eli had known Will all his life, the loss felt just as great for him, and now, it was fresh.

There was regret, maybe she shouldn’t have said anything, but… it’s better he find out this way than by some passing gossip, “Shot while the Peggies tried to take Fall’s End. Protecting the kids.” A shuddering breath, “He’s buried back behind the church. Jerome gave him a proper funeral service and everything.”

“I’m sorry.” Collecting himself he hesitated before he reached across the table and grabbed her hand, a small comfort, but it was all he felt he could give right now.

“I’m sorry too.” She feels so small, like all the world is crashing against her once more, “It’s -- I haven’t gone back since. I sort of threw myself into everything that’s gone wrong instead of focusing on what I’ve lost.”

“Sounds familiar.” It wasn’t coping. Both of them knew that. But under the current circumstances, pretending a personal problem doesn’t exist is easier when taking on the burdens of the rest of the world.

“Will said that’s what you did after Jenny left.” He nodded, and her eyes fell to the map, free hand pointing to a spot on the map, “Rae-Rae’s Pumpkin Farm is gone; the cult killed her and her son.” A red X crossed the map, “I managed to save Boomer though; they were going to send him to Jacob for… something. Or at least that’s what the note on his cage said.”

Eli hummed and pulled his hand from hers, searching through the papers and notes that were hidden in a drawer under the table. “He’s training wolves, they’re mean, underfed and prefer human to any other kind of meat, I wouldn’t be surprised if they wanted to try the same thing on Boomer.”

“Christ…” She paused. The topic had turned to Jacob and before she could stop herself the words came spilling out, “Tammy’s right. About me. About what Jacob does.” He stopped for a moment, eyes focused on her as she continued, not pausing for breath or interjection, she had to get it out before something happened, “He… drugs you. Well. Technically. First, he has the Chosen beat you, or well, at least he did with me, I don’t know about anyone else. Then you’re tied to that chair and drugged and forced a stimulus, succeed and the pain stops, at least for a little while, fail, and it gets worse.”

“We fixed it,” He stops her, “the guys made a deprogramming tape -- just play it, like we did for you while you’re asleep and it stops it.”

“No you didn’t.” It stopped him in his tracks, her voice was serious and she refused to break eye contact, and then, she continued, eyes darting back to the maps, “I mean, you can stop it, it’s possible, but it’ll hurt” her voice is low again, “probably just as much if not more than the initial conditioning did.”

“...Do you know how?” Trepidation was there and his pen and notes were long forgotten, instead, he couldn’t help but stare at the woman who was so focused, so serious about the problem at hand.

“Maybe?” Bridget fidgeted, fingers picking at her scabs once more, “I-I don’t know for sure. What he’s doing is called classical conditioning, I remember reading about it, and there is a way to break it, but it requires being subjected to the stimulus that causes the response until you no longer respond.” The words are rushed, and honestly probably aren’t right in technical or professional terms, but the base idea was right. She was sure of it. Well. Maybe like seventy percent sure. But it was better than just waiting for her to explode like the ticking time bomb that she’s certain that she is at this point.

“How do we test it?” Her hands tighten around the bottom of her stool, and she can’t help but be amazed at the lack of hesitation on his part -- she had just told him that he was wrong and that she wasn’t even sure if this was going to work but, he trusted her anyway.  _ You had a hell of a best friend here, Will. _

A deep breath, “...on me.”


	12. Chapter Eleven: Ooh Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter out and published! I promise that we'll have some actual drama, you know, at some point, but I'm REALLY digging in for a slow burn here so I hope you guys enjoy it! You're welcome to leave comments or come find me on Tumblr (for now coughs) at pathfinderyderss or at Mastodon at Courier6.

“Are you fucking crazy?” A door slammed open, breaking the tension in the room as both Eli and Bridget turned to look at Tammy who definitely heard the entire conversation by the look on her face, a mix of disgust and horror flickered across her face as she leans against the doorframe. “Have you thought about what would happen if something went wrong with your  _ little plan? _ ” 

The woman was studying her, and honestly Bridget can hardly blame Tammy -- after the things she had seen, the things that the cult had done, she’d do the same. Returning to picking at the scabs on her arms, she takes a deep breath before meeting the woman’s eyes, “I wouldn’t do it  _ here _ , there’d be no way to gauge the strength of my reaction and I’d rather not hurt anyone while… deprogramming.” Her eyes traveled back over to the maps that had been long forgotten in her conversation with Eli and her fingers traced a trail back to the Jail, “We’ve liberated the Prison, I can put myself in an isolation cell with the trigger and wait it out… however long that is.”

“You’re far more valuable to the Whitetails -- to the Resistance without all that.” He was adamant, afraid to lose any more bodies to Jacob and his meat grinder that much was obvious to the dwindling number of Whitetails that occupy the bunker that he and Will had made. 

“Well yeah, up until the minute that Jacob decides to press whatever button it is that he’s created in my head to make me go berserk or do the macarena or whatever else it is that he’s intended to do with me.” Fingers drummed against the table in front of her in frustration, it’s… she doesn’t want to hurt innocent people, especially against her will. 

“You don’t really think--” Eli ran a hand through his hair as he sighed, shaking his head as both women stared him down until the words slowly faded off, knowing that he wasn’t going to win, well at least right now.

Both women shared a look, one of exasperation shaking their head and sighing as they turn back to Eli whose brows were furrowed and his lips in a thin line of frustration,  “Look, it’s a safety thing, Eli. And it’s better to be safe than sorry isn’t it?”, 

It was honestly a surprise to Tammy, agreement colored her tone as she observed the Deputy, “Okay, so  _ maybe _ I don’t trust her, but she’s at least reasonable.”

“We don’t even know what this could do to her.” Hands balled up at the sides of the desk, Eli shook his head, he had seen so much unnecessary death already, and sending her off to the unknown seemed little better,  “What if she dies?” He thinks of her face when she told him Will was dead, the panic that overtook her features at his mention -- and those that would feel that ache again if both of them were lost.

“Yeah, well we also don’t know what his little experiments do either. And if it’s anything like the things he does to those wolves…” He was losing, Tammy looked resolute and had surprisingly closed ranks with Bridget, an unexpected turn of events, perhaps, Eli thought, she had hoped to usher the Deputy out quickly -- keep them safe while she goes off to do… whatever it was she had been planning.

“And besides, Eli. I’m pretty sure I’ve survived worse at this point.” The hotel, the waking nightmares… Hell, everything up until this point had been an absolute nightmare in terms of survival, and yet, here she stood. She cracked a smile at him, trying to sow some reassurance his way. She had been fractured, but held herself together with bubblegum and shoestrings. 

“I still don’t like it.” Immovable. The three of them would make absolutely no progress in their discussions, and there’s was a pit in Eli’s stomach that told him that no matter what he said or did, that if the woman in front of him wanted to go through with her plans, there was nothing he could do to stop her.

Before the conversation could go further, however a familiar voice echoed across the War Room, “This is Nick Rye, and Bridget, if you’re listening, some fucking Peggies made off with my plane I was hoping that you could help me get it back so that Kim and I can get the fuck out of here before shit hits the fan. Well. Even more than it already has.”

Her stomach churned, Bridget knew she’d have to go home sometime, have to explain herself, explain what happened, she had just hoped it would be… later. “Well, Eli, it looks like your have your stay of experimentation -- I’ve got an aviation company to save.” Relief, maybe he’d have time to figure something else out, something that wouldn’t end in even more carnage or at least get Tammy on his side. Turning behind him, Eli unhooks a handheld radio before passing it to her with a nod, “Hey Nick, it’s me.” Tammy turned back into her “office”, evidently pleased with the turn of events this afternoon -- both Bridget and Eli were certain that they’d have a discussion with her soon.

“Holy shit, you’re alive. Boshaw said you were but with the state of things… you know.” The radio crackled with the long pause as she stared down at the handheld, for a moment, there was so much uncertainty in what she wanted to say. What she should say.

_ I’m sorry I abandoned you, but I was on the verge of an absolute breakdown and had I stayed I probably wouldn’t be alive right now.  _ Inappropriate. Instead, she takes a shaky breath, “Yeah. I’ll make my way back to the Valley now, Nick, I’m up in the mountains, so it might take me a day or two but I promise I’ll be there, and we’ll get this settled.” Her voice is tight, and she tries to cut out any emotion, anything that may slip through the already fractured cracks that Jacob had visibly shaken loose.

A laugh crackled over the radio, “Thank you, Bridge.” She could hear the smile in Nick’s voice -- probably the first good news he’s heard since the attempted arrest two weeks ago, “With shit going south I’ve gotten so worried about Kim and the baby and being able to get out of here… it’d be… great.”

“Of course, Nick.” She nodded, “We’ll get her back from them. And keep Kim and the baby safe.” She exhaled as the radio went silent, hands shaking again. There had been so much… too much that had happened, and now, the reality sinks in that what little she did, what she had accomplished, that it meant so little in the grand scheme of things. 

Reaching over the table to hand the radio back to Eli, he shook his head, “Naw, you need it, radio us or whoever’s around for help as your climbing down this mountain.” Motioning her over the two of them got her situated -- hiking boots, water, enough rations for a week and a few other things from Wheaty and Walker. With the pack on her back, and a pistol and a shotgun and the radio she was borrowing, she headed outside the Wolf’s Den, “Now, don’t be a stranger there, Campion. There’s tons of shit that needs to be done up here and you’re just the woman to do it.”

Looking back at him she smiles, “There are plenty of women like me out here in the wilderness, Eli, you just gotta know where to look.” He laughs at that, and she can tell that he’s almost forgotten what it’s like to laugh -- damn the Seeds, damn this whole situation from taking so much away from all of the people of her home.

He grabs her shoulder and she looks over at him, the two of them still sharing smiles at eas for the first time since she found herself tied to that damned chair, “You’ll have to give me tips sometime.” There’s a chuckle at the end and he gently squeezes her shoulder.

“Mhm” Bridget raises her eyebrows in mock contemplation grin still playing at the corners of her lips, “Depends what you’ll give me for my invaluable knowledge.”

He laughs and waves her off, “Don’t get lost, or die, Deputy.” She couldn’t bring Will back, but maybe she could be there for him through all of this like Will would be -- it’d be the least she could do after watching his best friend die.

“I won’t make promises I can’t keep,” He rolls his eyes and starts back down underground, to the safety of the Wolf’s Den and on her tiptoes she looks in after him and says, “and Eli!” He turns and looks back at her, “Thank you, for saving me.” She swears she hears something along the lines of, ‘You owe me a beer for it,’ but she isn’t sure and instead of compromising them, or wasting anymore of the daylight she has, Bridget Campion takes a deep breath, shakes her head and with a laugh heads town twisting mountain paths.

 

* * *

 

This far up the mountains, the paths twisted and turned -- easier to work with the already existing architecture than to try to beat it into something new, but it’s made her travels slow -- the sun was setting into her first night of hiking back down to the Valley when she couldn’t help herself, biting her lower lip she took a breath -- her side aching from where she had taken a steel toed boot to the ribs before being delivered to Jacob,  _ “So. I’m alive, and mostly alright.” _

_ “That’s a surprise.” _ The response was dry, and she couldn’t help but laugh --  _ maybe _ just  _ maybe _ she deserved that one after all she had put them through this last week. She almost wanted to ask what they had seen… what they had felt. But...

She hesitated,  _ “Oh come on,” _ Joking was easier, pretending everything was okay and that she wasn’t held together by shoestrings and bubblegum even if just for a moment,  _ “you couldn’t have been that worried.” _ A scoff, and it made her heart swell -- that she was cared for by this invisible person,  _ “We’ve only been mind buddies now for like two weeks.” _

A sharp turn, she hears something ahead of her and she’s not particularly in the mood for a fight, finding somewhere to bunker down for the night isn’t a terrible plan. Their voice continues,  _ “It’s… disheartening to think about losing someone,” _ She can tell they want to say something else, but have chosen diplomatically -- and guilt fills her, she can only imagine what they experienced that week she was Jacob’s guinea pig,  _ “especially when you have a connection like we do.” _

She takes a longer path, turning away from the noise, holding herself close to the cliff face that she finds herself against, searching for a small cavern or a cabin for her hide in for the night,  _ “I… hadn’t thought about that.” _ A lie, it’s all she had been thinking about. What had she put them through? It’s the only thought that’s echoed through her mind at the thought of the kind voice in her head. She ducked under some long hanging branches,  _ “I’m sorry for worrying you.” _

Maybe she’ll walk a little while longer. Get away from whomever that was in the forest before settling in for the night,  _ “I’m just glad that you’re alright.”  _ A pause, and a greater intonation of concern,  _ “You are alright, aren’t you?” _ She almost felt like a child being scolded, which, she realized, was probably at least somewhat deserved.

She shrugged, realizing too late they cannot see it,  _ “Lots of scrapes and bruises but nothing that you need to send a doctor for.” _ Except maybe a cracked rib or two, but she felt guilty enough after his earlier comments that there was no way in hell that she had any intention of bringing that up. _ “What about you? Staying out of trouble in my extended absence?” _

_ “Nowhere near as much trouble as you seem to get into, that’s for sure.”  _ The tone was lighter now, she swears she can almost hear a laugh and it makes her smile,  _ “I’ve been alright though; work has been keeping me busy enough, between that and my family, life has been quite… entertaining.” _

A smile crept up onto her features, she was glad that they were well, that their family was well -- that there was someone somewhere thriving while all of this was happening,  _ “Well, I’m glad the drama in my life has been a nice contrast for you.”  _ She stopped, her chest ached, and the last of the light from the sun was setting behind her now -- she’d need to find some place to hide for the night, maybe get a few hours of rest before continuing down the mountainside. 

She heard him snort this time,  _ “To say the very least.”  _ There’s a small cave -- not a cave but an eroded crack, enough for her to slide into and hide in, to give her chest a break before starting back out in the morning and hopefully hide from any patrols that may come through the area.

Her backpack came off first, and she pulled a jacket out as insulation against the cold ground -- the backpack would serve as her buffer against the rock. Rifling through the bag she searched for some of the food rations, just enough to stave off the hunger, but not enough to make her sleepy,  _ “So have you thought of a story to rival my IKEA adventures?” _

_ “A few.” _ It was a coy answer and she rolled her eyes as she started to open up the granola bar that she had plucked from her pack.

_ “Oh come on, don’t leave me hanging, I have a few hours to kill.” _ Bridget stretched her legs out in front of her as her eyes watched the horizon as stars started to dot the skyline, purples and blues dotted with a thousand sparkling dots -- it was almost enough to make her forget that her body ached and she was actively being hunted by a religious cult that’s hellbent on destroying her home.

Almost. Their voice broke her out of her thoughts,  _ “Well then, how can I refuse a captive audience?” _ She laughs, quietly, more for their sake than her own she was still concerned she was being followed… or hunted,  _ “Right. Well -- where I was living before had a hell of a nightlife; there were a group of us that went out together quite frequently, and one night, we had all been drinking at one of the local lakes; a celebration after a long case at work it was mostly light stuff, wines and coors light and other  _ **_traditional_ ** _ American beers; it was late and we had all decided to go swimming. It was… a lot of fun, _ ” She could hear the smile in their voice, it was a good memory, a fond memory, one that anyone could look back on and desire as their own, _ “honestly, I can’t think of a time that I’ve had more fun in recent years. Well at least until someone came and stole all of our clothes -- it was a uh… long walk back to all of our cars in just underwear after that.” _

There’s a chuckle from both of them, _ “It sounds like a great time -- I love swimming in lakes, so I’m definitely jealous. I’m up for that instead of IKEA furniture if you don’t want shitty half assed Swedish furniture in your house, well, except the losing your clothes part.” _

_ “I dunno.” _ She can hear the smile in his voice,  _ “Sounds like it could be fun.” _ A real laugh escaped her with that comment, and her eyes widened as she clasped her hands over her mouth -- shit, she had hoped that nobody had heard her.

Recovering, she took a deep breath, eyes refocusing on the horizon as she smiles, fond memories from what seems like lifetimes ago,  _ “You obviously haven’t gone streaking in the cold.” _

_ “And you have?”  _ Their voice was incredulous and she could feel herself grin -- this was obviously a surprise to them.

She tapped her boots together in front of her, a smile still playing at the edge of her mouth,  _ “I have to maintain some air of mystery.” _ Afterall, you’ve seen me be an absolute mess -- the fact that she’s a wild child as well… it’s better to save that for a later date.

_ “It’s a little late for that now don’t you think?” _ His voice is dry but there’s an amused tone to it.

_ “Absolutely not.”  _ There’s a snort at that,  _ “I’m just some strange person with a deathwish and a penchant for putting together IKEA furniture.” _

“So it would seem.”

_ “Look at that! Before you know it we’ll be best friends, watching movies and having sleepovers on the weekend.” _ They snort and she can imagine them rolling their eyes,  _ “What? You not into a weekend of popcorn, shitty homemade cookies and slasher flicks?” _

_ “Oh, well, when you put it that way…”  _ There’s a pause, and a heaviness fills her chest -- like frustration and anxiety _ “I, uh, have to go. There’s something that’s happened here that I have to take care of.” _ Their voice turns serious, “Be safe. I’ll talk to you again soon.”

_ “Alright.”  _ The chill of the Whitetail Mountain air reaches her again, making her shiver -- an ominous omen of things to come. Taking a deep breath she looks back up at the sky before she finishes with,  _  “You be safe too.” _

Her eyes got heavy, maybe she could get a few hours of sleep before continuing her trip, and after her conversation with her… _ friend _ she feels at least a little more contented in her own skin after everything that had happened in the last week and she gives them a silent thank you, just as she had thanked Eli -- the two of them had saved her life this week.


	13. Chapter Twelve: The Phoenix

Holding her breath, she begins the countdown -- 

Ten… her eyes are focused on the alarm at the far end of the Seed Ranch, the guards were still patrolling, not one of them noticing the remote explosives she had rigged to it and other pivotal spots around the ranch.

Nine… Eight… One of the snipers moved, and her trigger finger itched, it would be so easy to get him from here, but it would alert the other guards and someone would blow her cover.

Seven… Her finger eased off the trigger. And she snuck closer to the edge of the treeline.

Six. She breathed in.

Five. Out.

Four. Her back was now pressed against a tree right at the edge of John Seed’s property.

Three… She could see the flash of the timers on the explosives. Two. A deep breath and she dug in her heels and braced herself against the tree. One. The explosions ripped through the compound. Taking out both of the alarms as well as all of the vehicles outside. 

And before she could stop herself she’s taken off --  pistol out and running full speed at the Ranch that was now in full disarray. The night itself was now vying with the flames that licked up from the cars and twisted metal of the alarm towers but she did her best to stay in the shadows as she fired the silenced pistol, only taking down those outside the main grouping and as soon as she reaches the hangar she slips inside. Take a deep breath.  _ You’re doing fine _ . Now. If she were one of four fanatical cult leaders, where would she leave her radio broadcasting equipment? Her eyes wandered around the large hangar, eventually landing on Nick Rye’s bright yellow plane, and shaking her head she pulled her radio out of her back pocket and clicking it on, “Nick, I found Carmina.” It was a whisper and her eyes were caught on the door, watching for silhouettes against the flame brightened night.

“Hot damn!” The voice echoed and she fumbled eyes widening as she searched for the volume control on the fucking radio, whispering curses under her breath and shoving herself into a tiny corner of the hanger, hands shaking as she twists the knob to turn down the volume, eyes now frantically focused on the glass door at the far end of the hangar.  _ Please let them not have heard that _ . “Where is she? Can I come get her?”

An exasperated sigh, “Not right now -- there’s probably a dozen or more angry peggies outside and I have to figure out how to creatively get them out of here.” The words were whispered quickly, eyes not leaving the door as shadows grew longer against the door, and she could feel her heart pound against her chest. She needed to move, maybe see about a second floor window -- take out that sniper that she had seen from the forest.

“Oh shit.” Nick’s words broke her out of her thoughts and she turned back to the radio in her hand, “Please be safe then, Bridget.” Hauling herself up onto the second floor of the hangar she dropped low, hoping to avoid detection of anyone who had returned to patrolling on this second floor of the Ranch, “Don’t do anything stupid now, you hear? We’ll be waiting to hear from you in one piece again soon.” 

She smiled, “I promise, I’ll talk to you soon.” It was a whisper, and with it, she clicked off her radio and slipped it into her back pocket. Now, all she had to do was to make good on her promise. Sliding the window open with silent ease, Bridget slipped back out to the cool Montanan night air and found herself right out behind the sniper that she had noted earlier. Perhaps this would be easier than she had anticipated.

 

* * *

 

Locating the radio in what she assumed must have been a study of some sort, Bridget Campion couldn’t help but absentmindedly run her fingers across the intricately carved woodwork that seemed to appear all over the house, humming to herself as she tuned the radio to the accepted Resistance station, grabbing the receiver she smiled and took a deep breath, “Hey Mary-May and Pastor Jerome, if you’ve got the people, I know it’s late, but, the Seed Ranch isn’t under Peggy control anymore.”

“Goddamn, you did not just walk into John Seed’s house and kick his ass out.” Mary-May’s laughter could be heard echoing across the radio channel and it brought such a genuine smile to Bridget’s face. It was good news, something the Valley desperately needed.

“He, uh, wasn’t home.” She instinctively wiped her hands on her pants -- was there blood on them? She didn’t know anymore, “But I set a bunch of cars on fire and kindly told his people to leave. You may want to bring a shovel if you have one.”

Pastor Jerome’s voice broke through, “I’ll make my way there, we’ve lost a lot of people who’ve went up that way looking or intel, I’d… like to see if I can find them.”

“I…” She pauses, guilt filling her -- if she had stayed, maybe this wouldn’t have happened, if she had stayed maybe she could have stopped -- “I’ll help you look once you get here and we get the place secured.”

“Thank you, Deputy.” There was relief in the Pastor’s voice, she can only imagine how many people volunteered, thinking they’d bring some good back to the Valley, only to end up dead and probably floating at the bottom of the Henbane if the Cult’s dealings hadn’t changed.

It was more to herself, but it was echoed over the radio anyway, “At the rate we’re going Hope County is going to be filled with more fucking bodies than people and I don’t see a way to quickly stem the tide.”

“Blessed are the peacemakers:for they shall be called the children of God.” Matthew. It was a good verse. She liked that chapter. But she felt… unworthy of it’s lesson. 

Bridget snorted, “Sure as shit don’t feel like a peacemaker with this much blood on my hands, Jerome.” She thought of blue eyed and decaying Will, and the gunshots that echoed as clearly in her head as the ones that she had delivered against the people here today.

“We’ll talk about it later.” A promise, but also, more. He knew she needed guidance, knew that she had lost something that day in the Valley, “I’ll see you soon, Deputy.”

“Drive safely, Jerome.” The radio clicked off and she was left in silence once more. She wanted coffee. John Seed had to have coffee in this place, right? She was determined to find it. Something to warm the creeping cold that seemed to overtake her.

Bridget made her way downstairs, meandering slowly through the ranch style home -- she knew  _ of  _ the Seeds, met them a few times. Once at the Rye picnic and she had to stop a fistfight or two after the rumors about the Rye’s baby started flying. She couldn’t help but wonder if Joseph simply put the alcohol ban in place to stop bar brawls from getting out, because she’s almost certain that most of Hope County was ready to in the months before  _ The Collapse _ , the Project kept pushing and now… the people of the County were going to push back. Most of the people left would rather die than submit to the people that have made their lives hell for the last five years. She knows she would.

Continuing to roam around the house, her eyes met the stack of white books that seemed to be on perfect display at the one side of the first floor of the cabin. Now, for the record, Bridget Campion, does not, under most circumstances sanction the idea of burning books. But before she could stop herself, she had grabbed a handful of those damned white covered books and run back out to the cold Montanan night and threw the books onto the flaming twisted metal wreckage of what remained of the Projects trucks. “Fuck you Joseph Seed!” The words were shouted into the abyss of the night, only heard by Bridget and the owls, watching her curiously from the top of the hangar. Watching the pages twist in the flames, smoke darkening with the added fuel, her eyes turn back to the house, wondering if there were more of them to burn. 

Before she could, however, she was met by the sound of vehicles rolling up the drive, and two familiar faces came running up to greet her, Sharky pulls her into a backbreaking hug, “I see that you’re still making use of our famed arson techniques.” Making her laugh and hug him fiercely in return, “Damn girl, it’s good to see you alive and kicking.” He eventually drops her back to the ground and pats the top of her head, “Had to admit, we were pretty freaking worried when there wasn’t any word from you for a week there.” Turning, she saw Fred, who was now watching the smouldering pile of cars, he noticed the books that she had thrown into the flames and then turned back to look at her.

He nodded and reached a hand out, but as she went to shake it, she decided better and pulled him in for a hug as well, and smiled as he hugged her tightly in return, “I’m so glad you’re alright -- thought it was my fault they caught you when I told you to run.” She shook her head, “When we finally reached the Valley, I got a hold of Eli and asked him to keep an eye out for you and when he did…”

“It wasn’t your fault.” She met his gaze, and was honest now, neither of them deserved to feel any way about what happened to her, it was just was, “Jacob’s pretty keen on kidnapping people these days -- there were two other people in the room with me, had I stayed, they probably would’ve just taken you guys too.” She elbowed him, “And  _ you _ have a family to go back to, and I’m sure as shit going to make sure you do.”

Fred smiled at that and hugged her once more, “Thank you, Deputy.”

Pastor Jerome came up beside them then and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, “You know, you didn’t have to do this alone.”

She turned, “I know,” There was a sad smile -- she could have easily asked for help, came to Fall’s End and grabbed Sharky and Fred and Boomer and a small group of Resistance members but… she was tired of people dying, at least here, the only person that could have died was her, “I was closer from where I was in the mountains and I didn’t want the Peggies to catch wind of what I was doing. And evidently the surprise element worked!” She smiled, Jerome frowned, motioning for her to follow him, and the two headed down to the docks.

The brush crunched beneath their feet as they meandered down the path, “This isn’t only about Will.” Jerome’s voice was clear, confident, everything that the situation required him to be. Guilt panged her chest again.

“No.” Her response was short, sharp and defensive and she’s not quite sure where it came from. She takes a breath, “It’s not.”

“Is it about the Project itself?” He was softer now, as they reached the docks and took a seat at the water’s edge.

She paused, contemplating, she honestly hadn’t really given herself a chance to actually think through her motives, “...No.” She was uncertain, “I… I don’t know.”

“Killing is hard.” The words came from out of the blue, and she blinked up at him, surprised, “I was over in Afghanistan -- talked with kids a hell of a lot younger than you that were fighting with those same demons, they’re written all over your face.” His eyes are fixed at the moonlit water, shimmering as it continues downstream, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.” He takes a deep breath and looks over at her, and in that moment, Bridget sees how much this fight has aged him and how deeply saddened he is by this, “You and me and Will… We can take on the burden of protecting the flock, we’re strong enough to walk through that valley of the shadow of death and keep the people here safe and know that on the other side, they’ll be okay because of the sacrifices we made.”

She smiles, “I still fucking hate that bible passage.” He laughs at that, “I saw him, Will,” she clarified, “while I was strapped to that fucking chair in the mountains.” She took a shuddering breath, “For days, I’d wake up at home, in my bed and some days, he’d be beside me… other days in the kitchen and every time… As soon as he’d look at me --” her breath hitches, “His skin would pale and purple, fingernails would fall off and eyes would haze over blue and I would… I would…” She could feel the panic rise in her chest and Jerome grabbed her hand, gently, grounding her to the there and now instead of allowing her to spiral into the memory so painfully ingrained in her, “I killed him Jerome. Over and over and over again.” Her voice was so small, “All to make the pain stop.”

“What happened in Fall’s End wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t any of our faults -- the Project decided to come in and take the town for themselves and didn’t care about the casualties.” “You’ve seen the bodies they dump on the sides of the road, they have no sanctity for life -- theirs or anyone else’s and you cannot carry the burden of every death in this county on your shoulders.” His hand squeezes her shoulder both as comfort and a reminder, “Especially Will’s.”

She nodded, eyes watching the river that continued on -- never faltering, forever churning, bringing life to this Valley, even when people like her and Sharky seemed more than content to burn it down around them, if it meant taking the Project down with them. “I miss him.” She could feel tears stinging in the corners of her eyes, emotions that she had worked so hard to keep tamped down were welling up while sitting here. She wanted those mornings back, the ones that Jacob Seed took from her, the ones that haunted her now when she closed her eyes and instead of seeing the man she loved, all she sees is a decaying corpse. 

The pastor’s hand shifted to her back, a comforting hand pressing against her side, reminding her that she’s here now, not in that dream world, “That’s normal, even feeling nothing at all wouldn’t be unexpected right now.”

“I’m sorry for leaving.” Her throat burns as she tries to fight away those tears that are welling up just below the surface.

He laughs, it’s not condescending, but knowing, as if he expected her to have said that “To have expected you to stay after everything that happened would have been cruel.” He squeezes her side, another reminder, “You came back to us when we needed you, and that’s what matters.” Jerome let her go and stood up once more, “I’m going to head back up to the Ranch, take some time, come back up when you’re ready.”

Footsteps crunch back up the trail to the house and she’s left alone with her thoughts once more, and Bridget Campion can feel her breathing speed up, the ache in her chest become unbearable as a sob rips through her, the floodgates opened, she pulls her legs up to her chest and just lets the tears come. Crying for the things she lost, the people who have died at her hands at the hands of the cult, crying because, fuck, for the first time since that night in the shower after Will died she’s allowing herself to feel. They’re ugly tears, her nose buried in her knees as she rocks out the sobs that have been left in her for weeks, rubbing her face on the borrowed denim to try to keep her as dry as she can.

By the time she had finished, her eyes are red and swollen and her throat burns, but she feels more human than she has since being captured by Jacob, unravelling herself she looks back out across the river as she hears her radio crackle to life, “So. You’ve taken my home in the name of your little resistance. Ah if those walls could talk. Well, more accurately scream -- just know that I will get it back, sooner or later. And when I do, maybe I’ll hang your skin as a trophy above the mantle.” 

Her breath catches in her throat.

She knows that voice.

She  _ knows _ that voice.

“There is absolutely no fucking way.” And in that moment, things in Hope County for Bridget Campion went from bad to worse as she screamed and threw the radio into the Henbane River.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohoho. Look at that surprise twist at the end. Expect more explosive shenanigans and Bridget refusing to fly a plane in the next chapter! Feel free to leave your comments with your thoughts on the chapter down below and you can always find me (for the moment) on Tumblr at pathfinderyderss if you want to ask for more behind the scenes information on the story!


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Wild One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this is a day late! There's a really long and drawn out holiday reason for it but know that I promise, I will keep up with my current update schedule. With a surprise next week! As Christmas is coming up I'm planning on doing a double chapter release for Christmas. It unfortunately won't be full of Christmas cheer, but I hope it'll be something that you guys have been looking forward to!

She squished. 

With every step she took, there was a wet squelch that followed her, a soaking wet trail dripped behind her as she took back up to the Seed Ranch. She had guilty dove into the river to recover the radio that she had, in the heat of the moment, thrown into the dark waters. Tonight, Bridget Campion decided, was a night full of regrets. At least it was a warm summer night, she huffed a laugh to herself a she continued up the stone trail back to the ranch.

Hoping to slip by unnoticed, she winces at Sharky’s voice echoing across the camp, there were a million questions she didn’t want to answer right now, “Damn chica, you know that normally you’re supposed to take all of your clothes off before swimming, right?” There was a smile on Sharky’s face -- obviously amused with the soaking wet deputy in front of him. It was a relief, amusement is much easier to deal with than the questions she had rolling around in her own head.

She paused. “I decided that me and my clothes needed to be washed, and this seemed the most… concise way to do that.” She smiled, it was tight, and she’s certain that he knows just how fake it is -- and if he does, she’s thankful that he chooses not to press on it.

“You know, Dep. I’m pretty sure that as rich as fuck as John Seed is, he probably has a washing machine somewhere in this place.” They had started an actual bonfire on the twisted remains of the cars and alarms that Bridget had taken out earlier in the day and Sharky proceeded to pull her over to it, “Well, the least you can do is let the fire dry you out.”

The gesture was kind, and she couldn’t help but smile at the man beside her, “Thank you. It’d be nice to have boots that didn’t squish every five seconds or so.” Her eyes were now stuck on the writhing flames, she could feel emotions twisting up in her chest once more and she shifted, the warmth of the fire a comfort, especially when she felt Sharky’s eyes on her, obviously expecting an answer to a question she had already forgotten, “He seems more like the dry cleaning type to me.” The words were dry and there was a frown that she couldn’t seem to get rid of. She didn’t want to think of him. She didn’t want to believe that this was happening.

Maybe.

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe her brain was connecting dots that weren’t really there. She looked back at Sharky, “...John Seed was the one who made the big YES sign, right?”

“Bastard had the  _ sinners _ do it as a form of penance,” It was Fred who had meandered over to the fire, obviously hearing Sharky and her talking, his hand comes and places on her shoulder, where he pauses for a moment, seeming to realize that she is indeed soaking wet from head to toe, “...is there a reason you’re soaking wet, Deputy?”

“Good old fashioned stone washing of my clothes?” He scoffed and she grinned at both the men beside her. “You know, not even the Catholic Church is that brutal, well, anymore. Like sure, we’re all going to hell, and there isn’t anything we can do about it, but the church hasn’t resorted to forced manual labor in like eight hundred years.” She paused, thinking about her statement for a moment before she rephrased, “Well, at least for penance, I can’t speak about the other atrocities that the Catholic church has committed.”

“For someone who’s supposed to be religious, you talk a lot of shit.” Sharky laughed as he adjusted his hat, slapping a hand over her shoulder.

“Hey,” She turned sideways, giving the fire a still soaking side of her to dry, “what good are you if you follow something without any sort of critical thinking in the matter?”

“I’m certain that the Project at Eden’s Gate would like you better if you didn’t.” The comment was quick and she didn’t even need to turn and look at Fred to imagine the smirk that was plastered on his face from it. The distaste in his voice coupled with it painted a very clear picture. Joseph Seed could get fucked and no one here would give a damn.

“Well fuck them.” Her mind was still on that god forsaken sign -- would it be enough to get a rise out of him? Would he even notice right away? She didn’t want to be around anyone, to give away that anything was wrong. No. That anything  _ could _ be wrong. “Are there any explosives around here? Did we find any?”

“You know, hearing those words don’t exactly fill me with confidence, here, Campion.” At Fred’s words, the two men shared a look, and then, Bridget and Sharky burst into laughter. There was something to say for the consistency of it all, at least.

“Relax, the only one who might get blown up in my next hair brained scheme is me.” It was a deflection, and she wrapped an arm around Sharky’s waist as she did so, the two of them grinning back at the older man, who was much less amused by their antics.

Fred’s eyes narrowed, obviously not believing her deflection, “Because that makes it so much better.” There’s exasperation in his voice, but it’s obvious that he’s concerned -- definitely thinking about what happened at the radio tower, “Also, did Jacob Seed give you brain damage or are you purposefully choosing to forget what happened the last time you went out on your own?”

A frown, she was being selfish, and she knew that, but she stood firm, she had to know, “Did we find any or not? Because I will make do with an entire backpack full of bullets.” Her voice was hard -- unflinching when she stared him down, “Your choice.”

Fred sighed and shook his head, she was absolutely impossible and all three of them knew it, “...We found a rocket launcher and a crate full of dynamite.”

She calculated. That’s an absolute lie. She did not. Spacial awareness was never her strong suit, and she had no idea how much she would actually need,  so instead she paused for what she hoped was a reasonable amount of time before nodding, “That’ll work.”

“You’re seriously not gonna tell us?” An exasperated groan left Sharky with that -- obviously wanting in on what she was planning. But she was determined to go it alone, afraid of someone seeing her reaction to whatever was going to happen, to ask questions that she wasn’t even willing to ask herself.

“Nope. Better you don’t know and enjoy the surprise.” The older man rolled his eyes, but the subject was dropped, at least for the moment and the three of them enjoyed the quiet crackling of the fire. Resistance members wandered about, sometimes joining them and leaving lingering glances on the slowly drying deputy and with a chagrinned smile, she couldn’t help but think that she had to be quite the sight. Slowly drying, tie-dyed with bruises of every color dotting most of her showing skin and half burnt hair. Eventually she’d look normal again, but for tonight, just sleeping in a bed would be enough for her to feel just a little more human.

 

* * *

 

 

Staring at the mustard yellow plane, Bridget could feel her eye twitch as she reached down on her belt to pull out her recovered radio, “Nick Rye, you better drive your happy little ass up here and get your goddamn plane.”   


“What? You’re not willing to fly it back down to me?” A playful tone echoed across the channel, and she could all but see him reclining on the leather sofa in the hangar while he responded, grinning while mapping out a hell course to make her take.

“Fuck you.” He laughed and a smile was itching to peak up at the corners of her lips, “Not after the stunt that you and Will pulled the last time you had me in the air.” She can recall her screams, of gripping onto the back of Nick’s seat and absolutely swearing her revenge on his bloodline for the next ten generations if he crashed the fucking plane -- and he just laughed, cackled over the radio as he took her back in for another set of turns.

“The great Bridget Campion -- savior of Fall’s End and woman who returned full radio frequencies to us: Can’t drive a single motor vehicle.” She snorted at the title, she was none of those things, well, except for the fastidious woman who can’t drive a motor vehicle, but that one, she accepted.

“You’re goddamned right. If I want to die there’s plenty of ways to do it without driving a couple thousand pounds of a metal death machine.” Laughter echoed through the hangar, both hers and Nick’s, it was light, and felt good after everything she had been through. Her tone was teasing as she continued, “I could always just blow her up, if you’d prefer?”

“Don’t you even think about it,” She wanted to respond with  _ too late _ but he continued before she could, keeping the smile on her face in the meanwhile, “I’m coming, I’m coming. You going to come by the house later then? I know Kim’d like to see you.”

She’d love nothing more -- to both see Kim and to make sure that they’re both alright, “Yeah! Of course. Absolutely!” She paused, thinking about the rocket launcher and dynamite sitting next to her pack that Fred had returned to her this morning. She had to be sure. To be positive that it was him, “I’ve just… gotta take care of something first.”

Bridget smiled as she heard more laughter, things that made her think of home and the world before it was turned into a free for all hellscape, “It’s always something with you, isn’t it?”

“Would I be me if there wasn’t?” It was true and the words made her laugh, irony, it seems was enough to twist her stomach into knots -- were she not throwing herself into every problem she wouldn’t be going to blow up a sign created by a doomsday cult all by herself.

“Be safe then, and if you ever need me, just give me a call, I’ll always have your back.” Bridget nodded her head, thanking her stars for good men like Nick Rye, “See you soon, Bridge.”

“Thanks, Nick. Fly safe -- I’ll hopefully be around before the end of tonight.” The radio clicked off, and with that, she took a deep breath. She hoped this worked. That she was wrong. With a backpack slung over her shoulder struggling to find her center with the ungainly size of the rocket launcher in her arms she headed out.

“We’ll meet you at the Rye’s place then tonight, Dep?” She nodded, Sharky and Fred were going to take Nick’s truck back to the Aviation company and she would meet them there after her solo escapades in the woods. “Alright then, but I expect to see you in one piece on their front porch by the end of the night then.”

“No promises, especially now that I’ve grown a taste for being kidnapped.” She kicked up the stone from the driveway in front of her, the threat of a smile crinkling the corners of her eyes as she’s met with an exasperated sigh from both of the men with her --- the very sight and sound made laughter bubble up in her chest -- bringing the other to men down with her into laughter, so much for serious.

Fred was the first to recover and placed his hand at the top of her head, “Very funny, Campion.” She nodded and winked, and he pushed her head away in a playful motion, making them both chuckle again, “Check in with us tonight or we’ll send everyone out looking for you.”

“You got it boss.” She gives him a cheesy salute and grin before adjusting the strap on her shoulder and heading off, the words repeating in her head,  _ It’s better this way. _ Part of her wanted to reach out to the person in her head, to allay the fears by simply talking to them. There’s no way, no possible way that she could have missed that. That she missed all of the signs,  _ har har _ , that pointed to him.

She snorted, yeah, and how would that work?  _ “Hey, I’m just popping into ask you -- is your brother the leader of a militaristic cult in Montana and do you, in your free time, kidnap people and make them confess their sins to you in a kinky priest roleplay kind of way?” _ That would go over  _ super well _ , either he is, and he realizes that she knows who he is and all hell breaks loose, or they don’t and then are ridiculously confused and horrified by her question. No. This was definitely the best way. That way, the only person who gets hurt and or horrified is her… well and John Seed. But she can live with that.

Adjusting her backpack and newly acquired rocket launcher, the weight was unusual and would take some getting used to, she took a deep breath and headed out, if she was planning on keeping her promise, she’d have to leave now and keep a brisk pace until she reached the damned signage. Waving goodbye to both men as she headed out -- promising herself that she’d see them again tonight, along with the Rye’s and have a night of normalcy after all of this chaos.

Bridget decided about halfway up the mountainside that she  _ hated _ rocket launchers. They were heavy and cumbersome and not worth the goddamn trouble she was putting herself through -- and what if there weren’t enough rockets and dynamite? She groaned. What if she’d have to make the trek back up here to finish the job? It was quickly decided that she’s definitely better off  _ not  _ thinking like that -- otherwise, she might be more content to simply curl up in one of the ditches and pretend to be some sort of forest plant than continue on this venture. Or any venture of Murder that Hope County has in store for her.

Her thoughts wandered….perhaps, just perhaps she should contact them. Them being the person in her head. And perhaps turning into slapping a child’s hand away from a hot iron. It was a bad idea. A very bad, no good, terrible idea. She wanted to remain impartial and if she contacts them, she’s afraid she won’t be. She  _ knows _ she won’t be. Pulling out the GPS device that Dutch had given her and looks up at the sign that just seems to get bigger and bigger. Only a half hour more or so, she figures. More than enough time to psych herself up for the absolute worst.

“I’m going to need a bigger rocket…” Looking the sign up and down she cursed, in every language, every variant, every explicative that she could imagine. It was… so much larger than she had originally anticipated and she  _ really really _ didn’t want to have to hike all the way back up here. She could do this though -- use the rockets for the parts up too high for her to throw the explosives. And then use a combination of dynamite and bullets to take care of the bottom. Deep breath. She’s got this. It’s for science after all.

Between the falling debris and the constant wracking explosions that shook the entire mountain top, Bridget is absolutely certain that she made a mistake. Well. More than she already made in the last two weeks. Nowhere was safe as more and more of the sign crashed around her -- eventually using the dynamite for the lower parts after her rocket launcher ran out of ammunition. Eventually, after what seemed like a day’s worth of fear filled hours she was down to the last piece of the signage. Taking a deep breath she light her final stick of dynamite and threw it, as hard as she could and then bolted back to the trees. The detonation exploded down into the Valley and she watched, almost cinematically as the bottom part of the “Y” slowly absconded down the mountainside.

She held her breath. Now to wait. Not that it took long for Dutch’s voice to echo across her radio, “Well that’ll piss John off real good.” She snorted, knowing that was her plan from the very beginning, honestly, she’s just glad that someone else thinks that it’ll work, “Fuckin’ sign was an eyesore. Glad you took care of it.”

Before she could respond however, the excited voice of Sharky belted out over the radio, “Holy shit Dep, that was you wasn’t it?” Laughter, she can all but see the glee in his eyes as he watched the destruction of this damnable sign from the Rye’s airstrip. “You fucking blew up John’s huge ass sign! And you wouldn’t let us come along -- you definitely owe me an explosion or six the next time we go out shooting Peggies together.”

She laughed -- wanting to promise to take him with her when she went to blow up the Joseph Statue that Tracey had asked her to get rid of but as she went to click the talk button her radio echoed to life once more, “When this little uprising is over, you’ll rebuild that piece by piece.” Fuck. She felt her breathing pick up, it was him. Holy shit. “You’ll work until your fingers are worn to the bone. And when you’re done…” The rocket launcher was dropped, right at the remains of his sign and she’s off, bolting down the mountainside again in a scene that reminds her of the one she had been cast in no more than a week ago, running from Jacob’s men, but this time, she was running from a voice, running from the voice that’s been in her head for weeks now. “I’ll bury you beneath it.”

That’s not how this was supposed to go. She was wrong. She wanted so terribly to be wrong. The person that’s helped her, the one who’s supported her through the mess she’s been under and now he’s… he’s… he’s part of the reason that she’s in this mess. That Will is dead and Hope County is burning and she’s so angry with herself that she didn’t see it sooner. That she was stupid enough to think that this could be anything more than a cruel joke. Stupid girl with stupid dreams who’s now caught in this impossible place.

“Sin is pervasive.” She had stopped to take a moment to breathe, and as she did, her radio crackled to life once more, “It drives us to do unspeakable acts. I know the feelings that drive you, I know them intimately.” She needed to run again, to make it to the Rye’s and then… and then… she didn’t know what was going to come next, more running? She was so tired of running. But she didn’t want anyone else caught in the crossfire, especially not Kim and Nick… “But I can help you, Deputy, I can wash away these sins, I can cleanse your soul.” The voice on the radio reminded her that she needed to keep going, to get away from all of this, taking a deep breath she’s off again, bolting down the hiking trail, “It will be difficult, and it will be painful but it will be worth it.” She was still so far from everything, everyone, and she didn’t really plan on a cross country run down winding hiking trails, “My people will come for you, they will bring you to me. Don’t fight it, because the harder you resist, well, the harder we’ll have to scrub your soul.”

“Fuck.” The word was repeated, again and again and again. They had an idea of her location (the sign) and would probably be waiting at the main branches off from the hiking trails to the road, and even if they weren’t as well trained as Jacob’s men, Bridget knew that the militant members of the Project knew how to kidnap people -- the white vans and horror stories she had heard were corroboration enough for that. She needed to change course, maybe head to the Prison, and hide out there for the moment -- jump in the river and just let it take her downstream. Maybe they won’t look for her there. Jackknifing off her current path she took a turn towards the river, chest heaving from both the panic of the current situation as well the cross country run she’s taken this afternoon. In her head, she’s picturing the route she needs to take to the river but her heart sinks at the sound of ATV’s revving up behind her. There’s shouting, things she can’t make out when a blooming pain ripples across her right shoulder.

Everything turns hazy and she can feel herself tripping, landing face first in the overlapping roots and downed leaves. The ache in her chest that had dulled came back once more as she crashed into the ground fingers clawing at dirt and root she tried to pull herself away, to hide somewhere, anywhere, but a hand grips the back of her head and pulls her up by the hair as her world turns black.


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Hell or High Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone! And to those of you who don't celebrate, I hope that your holiday season has been full of joy and inspiration. This week, my gift to you is going to be a double release, this is the first part and the second part is well underway. I hope all of you have a wonderful holiday season and enjoy the time with the people you love.

To say that John Seed was furious would be the greatest understatement of his time in Hope County. In twenty four hours, this seemingly vagrant deputy had managed to not only take his home, but managed to destroy the sign that he had spent months building and now he was on the back foot trying to recover, or at least maintain the stability of the Project within the Valley. A hand ran through his hair in irritation -- he can’t believe that he had let himself be put in this position, especially after Jacob seemed to have success in dealing with the Deputy.

He felt inferior. And before he could stop himself he had turned on the radio at his hip, “Sin is pervasive.It drives us to do unspeakable acts. I know the feelings that drive you, I know them intimately.” He thought of the voice message left for him on his answering machine by Joseph, that Joseph sees the same sin in them that he sees in his youngest brother, “But I can help you, Deputy, I can wash away these sins, I can cleanse your soul.” The silence was maddening -- he demanded a response, to know why she was doing these things and it made him all the more furious, “It will be difficult, and it will be painful but it will be worth it. My people will come for you, they will bring you to me. Don’t fight it, because the harder you resist, well, the harder we’ll have to scrub your soul.” The radio clicked off and he exhaled, fury still residing in his chest as he returned the radio to his belt.

John realized that pacing in his quarters had become a pastime in recent weeks -- first after connecting with the person in his head and now again with this deputy. It was what he needed though, the clear his mind, to purge the thoughts of wrath and pride that refused to let him see the bigger picture beyond his failures, beyond the deputy. To see the Project and Joseph’s vision for what it was instead of what he needed it to be. His hands shook. Taking a deep breath, he reaches out, trying to find the person who’s been a surprising anchor through all of this, but he’s met with… nothing. No emotion, no commentary, he wants to ask if they’re alright, if they got help, but if he takes himself down that path, he has a feeling it will lead only to heartache. Better to wait. To hear them reach out to him before blowing things out of proportion. Although, they were almost murdered less than a week ago.

He takes another deep breath. Banishing those thoughts from his mind as he calmly opens the door from his private quarters in the Gate, he made his way out to his Chosen. At the very top of the bunker he finds them, pacing and muttering to themselves, obviously antsy and wanting to return to the Valley to find more candidates for the Cleansing. Good, it would make this easy then. “The deputy is up by the YES sign and my Ranch, I want her brought to the rivers for the Cleansing tonight,” Three of his men stood and nodded, “Do not fail in this, the future of the Project depends on your success.” They left, with a quiet ‘praise be to the father’ and he nodded them off -- his mind on what he would need to prepare for the ceremony tonight. Perhaps a trip down to see Deputy Hudson was in order; he was determined to know all he could about this deputy who would soon be in his hands.

Shoes clacked against the concrete of the bunker as he made his way deeper and deeper into the Gate, and by the time he had reached the Deputy his fury had simmered, curiosity and determination more important to him now than his own ire at his failures. Door shutting behind him he walked over and removed the cloth gag he had left in place, “Good morning, Deputy Hudson, or is it evening? It’s always so hard to tell down in this bunker.” He watched her, a wary eyed woman who was suspicious of his every move and unrepentant in every form of the word, “So, your fellow deputy should be joining us down here before the end of the night,” John watched rebellion flare in her eyes -- fury unleashed at the threat against her fellow deputy, and it made John grin, hopefully it would be easy enough to get the information he so desired, “and I have every intention of having you tell me everything you know about her.”

A deep breath from the deputy in front of him, she was obviously bracing herself, “Fuck. You.” The words were punctuated with her spitting at the ground in front of him. A brave woman, indeed. John laughed, he had at least two hours to spend before he would need to get ready. Plenty of time to get the information he wanted.

 

* * *

 

Dusk had just set over the Valley when the Chosen returned, leaning against his car he looks over as one of the masked men approaches, “We found her,” John who placed his copy of the Book of Joseph down on the hood of the car and pauses and follows the man, “She looked to be making her way to the river, hoping to avoid detection by swimming into the Henbane.” Not a bad decision, Jacob did warn that the woman seemed to know her way around the mountains, and this seemed to be more proof of that.

He walked over to the unconscious bodies, there were six of them and he found her -- covered in bruises with blood seeping from a wound in her shoulder, “She’s alive, then?” She was smaller than he remembered, perhaps that was Jacob’s doing and she was missing her glasses -- that he was certain was Jacob’s doing. Hobble his opponents by any means necessary, even if it means blinding them. A smile plays at the corners of his lips, she may have been giving the Herald’s a hell of a time, but seeing her now, he’s certain that the Project has given back just as much as it’s been given.

“She’s been hit with a bliss bullet -- she’ll come to in about a half hour or so.”

“Excellent.” He clapped his hands together and returned to grab his white covered copy, “Let’s begin with those captured earlier in the day, lower numbers leaves a smaller chance for rebellion among those not yet converted.”

John felt… strange as he started the second scripture reading of the evening, words were muddled and he felt his limbs becoming strangely heavy. “We must wash away our past…” His focus was split and he… wasn’t sure what he had just said, eyes searching the page to find the passage he was reading from, “...We must expose our sin, we must atone!” His voice wavered as a tightness filled his chest. He took a deep steadying breath. 

What the hell was going on? 

The procession began, and he fixed each of those who approached with a cross on their forehead,  “For only then may we stand in the light of God. And walk through His gates. Unto Eden.” His focus was still… strained and now, fury unabashed and unrelenting rage flowed through him as the deputy approached, it hit him like a punch in the gut. And before he could stop himself, the words came pouring out. “Not this one,” He stopped the man holding her, Samuel, he thinks, and hands the Book of Joseph over to him. He’s met with this look of fury he’s never beheld before and it wrenches up more feelings in the bottom of his stomach, “This one’s not clean.” And he pushes, she’s unsteady under his hands and easily falls back under the water, he can feel her nails digging into his wrist, the thrashing of her shoulders as she fights back against him, but it does nothing to stop the anger inside of him. He pulls her back up, above the water, a gasping shaking mess whose nails are still dug into his arm, but her eyes haven’t changed, still hard, still furious, he shushes her, shaking his head as the wrath edges him onward.

“Do you mock the Cleansing, John?” Heart rate increasing at the words that seemed to echo behind him, wrath is slowly replaced by panic as he turns to face his older brother. The man who warned him of his own failings, his own death and he feels like a scolded child, staring down at pristine white kitchen tiles once more.

He can feel her eyes on him still, burning him, especially against the bite of her nails in his forearm, “...No Joseph.” Silenced by a single sound, he finds himself retreating more and more. He failed again. Even when given the opportunity and the means, and he failed his brother again.

“You have to love them, John. Do not let your sin prevent that.” A constant reminder, his own failure, his own weakness, and it’s all that’s perceived. He wants to be angry to resent it, but instead, he continues to look down and away, from both the furious gaze of the woman in front of him, and the disappointed gaze of his brother burning into him from behind. “Bring that one to me.” The woman dug her feet in, struggling against both men, and he could feel fury rise in his stomach once more, the conflict of feelings leaving him nauseous as he and Samuel drag the deputy to Joseph. “Despite all that you have done you are not beyond salvation. You’re not here by accident or by chance. You are here by the grace of God -- you’ve been given a gift. Now it remains to be seen whether you choose to embrace it, or to cast it aside.” Joseph turned to look at him now, and his stomach churns, ready for reprisal, for judgement, “This one shall reach the Atonement,” instead, he’s embraced by his brother, pulled close and rests his forehead against his older brother’s, “or the Gates of Eden shall be shut to you, John.”

“Yes, Joseph.” John felt so small, belittled and abandoned as his brother walks away, that his fate is tied to the woman in front of him… he captures the fury still swirling inside of him and steels himself as he turns to face her again, “You will confess, every sin you’ve ever committed no matter how petty, no matter how small. I will pull from you.” Who is she to take everything he worked for -- his family, his position, the life he reclaimed away from him? Resentment burns within him as he laughs, it’s hollow, and full of mockery -- in that moment, ready to accept damnation as an alternative to having to save this woman, “Then we’ll see if you’re worthy of atonement.” 

A moment passes, and he finds himself unable to look away from the haze filled brown eyes, that when the sharpness returns to them, for a single second, he’s frozen as the voice that had been silent in his head for days now echoes,  _ “I’ll kill you both.” _ And before he can ask a single question, Samuel has pulled her away, dragging her off to the transport van. John Seed is left standing on the edge of the Henbane River watching as the deputy sheriff is shoved into the back of the transport van, her eyes unyielding as the door slams shut in front of her. There was no fucking way. It was impossible. He grew dizzy again, world spinning as rage once again overtook him. 

Joseph was right.

His fate is tied to hers, in the most inexplicable, intricate way. Blue eyes watch the prisoner transport take off, gaze fixed to where he last saw the deputy. His left arm continues to bleed, deep gouges run from wrist to elbow, turning the black ink on his arm into a swirling mass of black and red -- his only reminder of the woman whose voice still rings in his head. Left alone at the river’s edge, he can almost smell the Bliss in the air and John Seed laughs, the irony of the position he’s in edging him further and further until the laughter echoes down the Henbane. 

Of all of the people, in all of the world, it would have to be her.

Deputy Bridget Campion.

He thinks of the dream of his brother, of the world around him burning after the helicopter crash and the inescapable rage that dwelled inside. The two of them would make the whole world burn. 

It’s the only thing he can accept as the radio on the driver’s side crackles to life.

  
“We’ve lost the deputy! Goddamn resistance came and sprung her from the back of the van. Anyone available make your way to the checkpoint before John’s Gate! We have to stop her from escaping.”  _ Of course she is _ . Making things easy would obviously go against everything she’s worked for. Tossing the radio over onto the passenger seat, he starts his car -- if this is how she wanted to play this, then he was more than willing to join in. Because in the end, he’s certain he’ll win.


	16. Chapter Fifteen: Heavy In Your Arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The other half of the Christmas gift! Things have definitely gotten interesting for John and Bridget. But worry not! The slowburn will continue on! Let me know what you guys think! And I promise to keep up with Tuesday updates!

Fingers dug into the mud beneath her as Bridget Campion awoke -- demanding her mind to ground itself, to focus so that she can get herself out of this situation before she does something stupid. Well. She pauses. More stupid than running out to bum-fuck nowhere on her own only to be captured by more Chosen and drugged out of her goddamn mind. “This one?” Her shoulder ached as she tried to look up, something felt… wrong her hand tingled when she tried to move it and her arm was limp at her side. Fuck. What did they do to her?

Her head spun as he breathing sped up, searching, squinting, trying to make out some feature of the man in front of her, pointing to another body. She hated it. Hated them. For all of the dead bodies she had seen while captured by members of this fucking family. They were innocent civilians, now dead because of some man who thinks he can talk to god. “No.” Another voice rings out, and she struggles to focus. To find the source of the second voice, this one, he has a gun.

The first man, the one without the gun laughed, “Don’t seem very worthy.”  _ Give me my shotgun back and we’ll see who’s worthy then, asshole. _ Her head was still spinning and without her glasses, she cursed her impatience in travelling on her own without getting more supplies, it was hard to focus on anything.

“It is not for us to judge. Deliver them unto the waters.” The first man grips her uninjured arm and pulls her to her feet; she’s dizzy, probably from blood loss, she figures, and cannot seem to fight back as the man drags her towards the river, “The cleansing begins tonight.” Foreboding. Thanks, she hates it.

John Seed’s voice rings out over the Henbane, but between the Bliss and the aching tingling that refuses to leave her right shoulder, she can’t say that she’s really listening to the man whose voice is now an unwelcome addition in her head. That when she’s shoved, forcefully under the water she’s left to thrash, fury now igniting in her veins as she’s left there, gasping and struggling without enough strength to fight him off, “We must wash away our past…” Gasping as she resurfaces, Bridget finds herself choking out the water between gasps. Everything was wrong now. Her whole body vibrated and her mind wandered, lost in a sea of thoughts that she’s certain can’t be her own, “...We must expose our sin, we must atone!” 

A rough shove comes to her uninjured shoulder, urging her forward, but the pit of her stomach clenched as she grit her teeth, she’d damn them all for this and if the man with the gun wasn’t standing out there… somewhere, “For only then may we stand in the light of God. And walk through His gates. Unto Eden.” She could see herself launching at John Seed, fingers tightly gripping around his neck as she shoves him under the water.  _ Repent that, you asshole. _ “Not this one,” She’s jerked to a stop in front of him and she falters -- did he hear that? Fuck. “This one’s not clean.” And before she can balance herself against the uneven rocks, she’s shoved back under the water once more. Gasping again, this time she lashes out, ignoring the searing pain in her shoulder as her fingernails sink into his arm, ripping, pulling, like a cornered dog. She’s certain he heard her, especially as he pulls her back up for air, shaking and still clenched tightly to his arm as he shushes her, shaking his head and he moves to shove her back under again, this time, however, she braces herself.

“Do you mock the Cleansing, John?” The shove never comes, and instead, she meets the man who caused all of this and she finds fury again in her stomach, quenching her fear like a cigarette under a boot.  _ It’s all a mockery. You’ve destroyed what faith truly means and replaced it with blind devotion.  _

Her hands grip his forearms tighter, mentally demanding herself to focus, to ground herself past the Bliss, to use the pain to tie her to the here and now. She can see him now. John Seed. A scared child as he’s lectured by an older brother. “...No Joseph.” Had she been able to contain her fury, to focus, perhaps she could have used that. But, it’s hard to do anything when her mind is full of cotton and her shoulder has a bullet in it.

“You have to love them, John. Do not let your sin prevent that.” Her stomach churned at that -- if only he knew. But she had seen too much, knows too much about what they’ve done to ever accept them, accept the Project as any more than a hoax. “Bring that one to me.” She refused, heels digging into the ground -- she would not meet him, would not acknowledge him, but as John grips her right side and pulls, her knees give out from the pain, “Despite all that you have done you are not beyond salvation. You’re not here by accident or by chance. You are here by the grace of God -- you’ve been given a gift.” There’s nothing left in her now but unbridled fury as he cups her face --  _ how dare he insinuate any of this has been a gift. _ That torture and death and loss and pain were a gift to be given and shared and used to convert her to his cause. Her teeth grind at the very thought, she gazed, unrepentant into his yellow tinted eyes, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of any emotion other than fury, “Now it remains to be seen whether you choose to embrace it, or to cast it aside.” Her eyes burn into the side of his face as he turns to his brother, her hands clench, nails now sinking into her own palms, “This one shall reach the Atonement,” Bridget wills her face back into a neutral mask as she watches them, and, even though she’s full of anger and rage, she can’t help the twinge of remorse she has for the man who’s been inside her head, his own brother was willing to cast his brother aside over a single woman, “or the Gates of Eden shall be shut to you, John.”

“Yes, Joseph.” Joseph walked off, and Bridget’s forced impassive gaze turns to John, belittled and demeaned in front of her, and watches as that loss shifts to fury in his gaze as he turns to look at her once more, “You will confess, every sin you’ve ever committed no matter how petty, no matter how small. I will pull from you.” Her own anger clashed with his, she could feel it in her stomach as it churned, fate, it seemed, had chosen to pit the two against each other in the most unimaginable of ways, perhaps, God did want a show after all. Sick bastard. “Then we’ll see if you’re worthy of atonement.” 

Her thoughts shift, with the most clarity she’s had all night -- to Joey, to Will, to Desmond Armstrong -- all people who have suffered under the cult’s cruelty. Her shoulder aches, and her hand grips his wrist tighter as she thinks of the atrocities committed beyond the Valley.  _ “I’ll kill you both.” _ There’s recognition in his eyes now. He knows her. Knows who she is. But as his mouth opens to say something, the man beside her rips her away, pressing on her injured shoulder to get her to move, to let go of the man in front of her, as she hisses in pain. Shoved into the back of the white prisoner van, her eyes meet his again, silver now, under the full moon light and for the first time in a long time, she was not afraid. 

The path in front of her was clear.

Bridget couldn’t help but wonder, with her eyes closed trying to block out the damnable peggie music playing from the front of the van, if the armed guard in the back of the van was here because of her. She’s probably cleared half a dozen of these vans, and never once has there been a guard in the back. If John Seed was that concerned over a single little girl ruining all of his plans. She smiled. Well. She did just steal his house and blow up his sign. Perhaps it wasn’t quite so strange or out there. 

She jumps as hands touch her own, making her turn, wide eyed at the person beside her, “If we just confess, if we confess right away we’ll be okay, right?” She opened her mouth and her gaze softened when she sees just how panicked the man beside her is, she isn’t sure what to tell him.

“No.” The woman on the other side of the truck cut in, saving Bridget from the hesitation that she found herself in, “It’ll make it worse.”

The man beside her sounded distraught, horrified at the thought,“Why? Bridget wanted to laugh.  _ Because this whole fucking cult is an absolute fucking disaster that’s only about pain and misery _ . She stared at the bullet holes in the wall in front of her instead of saying anything.

“Because confession without pain isn’t confession. You’ll scream out your sin and then you’ll wear it on your flesh before John peels it off of you. It’s a beautiful thing.” She wanted to snort, to roll her eyes, none of this was beautiful. Least of all flaying someone’s skin off in an attempt to play high confessor to a bunch of Doomsday Preppers.

“Fucking Peggies.” The guard slammed his rifle butt in the face of the woman across from her, and without even thinking, Bridget’s on her uneasy feet, fury tempering her movements once more as she’s determined to shove the gun down the man’s throat --  _ who the fuck is he to do that to anyone _ . Before she can, however, the van jerks. Forward. Then backwards and she finds herself pressed against the ceiling, her shoulder aching once more as she’s throttled around the tiny back compartment. Through the pain and the panic in the back of the van, Bridget’s eyes are focused, the guard dropped his gun, and she was determined to be the one holding it when this was all over. 

Unbridled panic filled her as she gripped the gun that’s been thrown to the back of the van, arms flailing as she tries to stop the man from reclaiming it, a hand wrapping around her ankle to stop her as her other foot crushes his fingers beneath her boot as she takes it and hears his screams, that between the adrenaline and her heart pounding wildly in her chest that as the door opened and Pastor Jerome’s voice echoed through the cabin, “...and show them no mercy.” A gunshot echoed across the valley and the relief made her shoulders relax and she could feel tears well up in her eyes. Jerome and Bridget then helped the other two captives out of the back of the van and cut the bonds of the three of them. 

She handed her gun off to the woman from the van, “Go, run, make your way to Fall’s End, but try to stay out of the fighting and avoid the roads.” The words were accompanied by a tightness in her chest as the woman nodded, pulling the man with her as they ran down the mountainside, turning back to Jerome, she attempted a tight smile, “Thank you.”

A hand clasped on her shoulder, “Stay with me.” She nodded, and turned to the pastor, who handed her a gun, and she took a deep breath to calm herself, the cold night air combating the haze that the Bliss had left, “Didn’t go through all this trouble just to lose you now.” Laughter bubbled up in her chest at that, but the sound of gunfire that was echoing across the road pulled their attention. Focus now, breakdown later.

Motioned over to the far side of the road, hidden in the treeline, she and Jerome went to work, he would make calls, and she, hunched over at the edge of the treeline would execute the shots that he called, squinting and trying to focus between the lack of glasses and Bliss, she did her damndest to be precise, even at the cost of time.

By the end of the firefight, Jerome and the small Resistance force managed to take control of the checkpoint and Bridget’s bracing herself against the cold brick building. Her shoulder and sides aching again as the adrenaline left her system. Jerome made his way over, “When you didn’t radio in, we knew it meant trouble -- Fred radioed me just after dark when there was no word from you and we… caught the end of the radio transmission John sent out to you.” She nodded, a deep shaking breath rattling her teeth. Everything hurts. She feels this is the only theme of her time under Seed “care”. “I’m glad that the lord pointed me in the right direction, but there are others that need our help. The Cult’s moving the rest of the prisoners up the road,”  _ Closer to John’s Gate _ . “They got Merle too. I’m gonna take care of the injured here, and make sure that the refugees get safely to Fall’s End -- more help will arrive soon,” A hand braces on her shoulder again, “I promise. And thank you, Bridget.”

She nodded, kicking off on unsteady legs to begin her trek up of the hiking trail. A hail of bullets and mortar fire were what accompanied her fast-paced jog, sneaking up behind to execute as many of them as she could before they saw her. Her eyes traced across the scene in front of her -- the forest ablaze as a rickety bridge where mortar fire could absolutely end her existence or a gully where she could be easily picked off… How’s a girl to choose?

Gun strapped to her back, she ran, footing surprisingly secure as she launched herself down into the gully, hands dig into the roots as she pulls herself up to the Cultist encampment. A deep breath, her whole body was shaking now. Five more men standing between her and a chance to get this fucking bullet out of her shoulder. Easy, right?

After a couple dozen clips and skittering around the camp like a terrified kitten, they were dead and Merle was freed of his zip tie restraints. “Well damn, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, Deputy.” He grabbed a gun from one of the men who she had just killed and she nodded at him.

Merle’s radio crackled to life, “We’re sending in a helicopter to pick you up, hold your position for extraction.” Her eyes widened,  _ no no no no no _ . Not a fucking helicopter. Not again. All she can see now, while holding off their position from Peggies is the crash, of the melted, twisted wreckage and  _ “No one is coming to save you.” _ The words on repeat in her head, echoing, and she’s certain that John Seed can hear the voice in his own head, but right now, she doesn’t care. Let him hear. By the time the helicopter appeared, she was so far in her own head that Merle led her over to the helicopter and helped her into one of the back seats before taking his own seat at the front.

When the three of them had finally landed, she looked around, she was so close to home -- maybe she could take time for herself. Then head off to the Rye’s… “Hey Deputy!” She turned towards Merle, “Do you need a ride somewhere?” She shook her head, decision set to go home. She needed something soft, something familiar. And even though she was haunted by Jacob’s conditioning, it was a chance to cope with everything that’s happened. 

“I’m gonna head home -- let Jerome know I’m safe and I’ll head to the Rye’s later today.” A deep breath. And she was off again. The early morning now peeking over the mountaintops as she headed down another burnt out hiking trail.   
  
The silence was broken by her own humming until she stopped, halting as a voice interrupted her thoughts,  _ “So, Bridget.” _ Her breath hitched in her throat as John Seed’s voice echoed in her head,  _ “We have a lot to discuss.” _


	17. Chapter Sixteen: Savages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years Guys! So! As you guys can see, there's now an ending in sight, not for a while, but, it's there now and everything is planned out. This chapter ended up a lot more melancholy than I had originally planned, but I felt that after the rapid turn that the story took there needed to be room to breathe before I put poor Bridget through more pain. Let me know what you guys think, and once again, I will keep publishing on Tuesdays, so you guys will still have that to look forward to in the new year.

Trees darted in and out of her vision as her footfalls increased to a sprint -- Bridget knew that she couldn’t outrun the voice in her head, but she was going to try, to hope that her home would protect her, somehow, from the world that seemed to be falling down around her. She didn’t want to respond. To acknowledge him. To let him see any more of her than he already had. 

It was too much.

By the time she reached the empty clearing to her home she was breathless, eyes wild and as she approaches her home her heart sinks -- the front door was ripped off its hinges, red painted words were scrawled across the sides of her home and on Will’s truck, now untouched since the arrest weeks ago. She holds her breath as she passes the threshold and in her mind’s eye she sees Will, like she did for days, standing in front of the stove only to turn around and become the corpse that haunts her dreams.

Her home was ripped apart -- Peggies must have come through, searching for things that they’d need. Kitchen drawers were dumped and abandoned in the middle of the tile floor, furniture had red paint splashed all over it, pictures hung crooked on the walls, shoes, which had once been carefully placed by the door were strewn about the living room.

_ “Bridget, I know that you’re there. I just want to talk.”  _

The voice rang out again and her breathing hitched in her chest. She needed to recover and he was already there, banging on a door that she had just closed. Her feet took her to the bathroom, clothes still soaking wet with three inches of rust colored water now dyeing the bottom half of her bathtub with blood. Plucking them out, the sound of the drain and the crunching of leaves beneath her feet were the only sounds to echo through the empty house as she disposed of the clothes in the outdoor bins.

Searching for bleach, for anything to undye the bottom of her bathtub, Bridget comes to terms with just how much she aches -- her right shoulder throbs and her fingers shake as she grabs the large bottle and an old rag. There was so little that she could control, but her home, fixing things and cleaning and taking out trash, that she could do. She could hold onto it. Pretend everything was normal for at least a little while longer.

By the time she had finished cleaning the bathroom and her kitchen night had fallen, and there’s a moment of hesitation before she grabs her telephone in the living room. Selfish, she realized, had become her motto as of late, realized all the more when she rings the Rye’s, although, she is grateful when they pick up, “Hey Nick it’s Bridget.”

“Holy shit,” She could hear the relief in his tone, especially as he covered the receiver and shouted to Kim that it was her, and that she was alright, “I’m glad that you’re alright. You are alright, aren't’ you?” She hummed in affirmation, “Jerome told us what happened to you.”

She hummed again. Unsure of what to say, “I’m uh, at my house -- Peggies came through and turned the place upside down. If it’s alright, I’m gonna stay here tonight, and I’ll come down in the morning?”

“Kim and I’ll come and pick you up.” She smiled, their kindness was something that was envied in the Valley, it was hard to rival and she was relieved that even through it all, that that softness remained in the two of them.

The walk would only take a half hour, maybe a little longer if there were roadblocks up she’d have to avoid, and she’d rather the two of them stay safe. “You don’t have to--” 

He cut her off, concern coloring his voice, “Just give us a call in the morning once you’re ready and we’ll bring you over -- it’s like a resistance party over here.”

“Of course.” She nodded, “And Nick, thank you for staying.”

There was laughter at that, “Yeah, between your heroics lately -- are they heroics or are you just in the right place at the wrong time and Kim pointing out that no son of a bitch Seed was going to drive us off our land, I found it hard to leave it all behind.”

“Definitely the second.” The two of them laugh now, “I’m glad. And I’ll call you first thing in the morning, I uh, may need help digging a bullet out of my shoulder.” The last part came out in a single hushed breath, and before Nick could question or say anything more than an extremely startled ‘What?!’ she quickly ended the call, “Love you and Kim both, and I’ll see you in the morning!”

She took a deep breath in, and let it out between clenched teeth. She needed to eat. And shower. And maybe take some painkillers for the head to toe ache that was her body presently. There’s cereal in the cupboard and she’s certain that there probably peanut butter and probably some jerky…  _ “You can’t avoid this forever.” _ She’s absolutely certain she could.

_ “What? The fact that you’ve murdered innocent people for the last five or so years? The fact that I watched the man I love bleed out in my arms because of you and now have your voice stuck in my head?” _ She paused, waiting for a response as she continued to search through her cabinets, hoping that the Peggies left her food well enough alone. There was a long pause and she snorted and rolled her eyes, _ “No snarky comeback? No,”  _ she did her best to imitate his voice in her head,  _ “I will make you pay for every sin you’ve ever committed? Because I fucking hate to tell you -- your family has more sins on your souls that I will  _ **_ever_ ** _ have on mine.” _

Her shoulder throbbed as she sat on her kitchen counter, eyeing the still wet paint on her couch, as she ate her… eclectic meal of dry cereal, peanut butter, jerky and a bottle of shitty beer. _ “I think you’re assuming a lot in what you’ve just said, Miss Campion.” _

_ “Am I, though? Ya’ll are responsible for Desmond Armstrong’s  and Gary Fairgrave’s deaths aren’t you? You’re the one who ordered your people to take Fall’s End. The blood of this Valley is on your hands.” _ She hated jerky. It was dry and gamey but, she couldn’t recall the last time she had eaten protein. 

_ “Joseph had seen--” _ She can hear how indignant he is, she wants to point out that he didn’t deny or refute her claims. Just hid behind his older brother. Use his  _ holiness _ as an excuse for their crimes.

She snorted and rolled her eyes -- she remembered a passage though, from her time in Catholic School, the nuns sitting there as at ten and eleven they squirmed as they attempted to read this passage under their apathetic gaze. Leaving her food on the counter she meandered over to her bookshelves, searching for her copy of the bible, was it in Matthew or Luke? She didn’t know if he was patiently waiting for her to comment or simmering with fury. It was hard to tell with her own anger bubbling up in her stomach, ten minutes passed before she found it,  _ “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are like whitewashed tombs, which on the outside look beautiful, but inside they are full of the bones of the dead and of all kinds of filth. So you also on the outside look righteous to others, but inside you are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness.” _ She marks the page with one of the ribbons in the binding before gently returning it to her shelves.

There’s a pause, and then she can hear laughter, _ “Matthew, huh?” _ He knew it then, she wondered, if somewhere deep down he could see the hypocrisy of it all, or was he too far down the rabbit hole...

_ “You do realize that Jesus’ condemnation of the Pharisees is pretty accurate when it comes to you and your family, right?”  _ She made her way back over to the kitchen counter and hopped back up to her spot from before. Continuing to eat her beef jerky and spoonfuls of peanut butter.

His next words are sharp, defensive,  _ “Maybe, but only if Joseph’s wrong.” _ She snorts. That’s a hell of a thing to put all of your hopes on -- and a hell of a way to feel about it. 

_ “Yeah, well, good luck with that.”  _ She pauses, the conversation has been civil, but there’s a malicious part of her that wants to dig in the knife. The decision is made when he doesn’t respond, a sigh, one of those that you let out in a dramatic attempt at sadness accompanies her words,  _  “Also, what kind of brother would damn his own kin over the fate of a singular woman?” _

_ “One who knows the truth about what we are.” _ There’s an underlying tone in his voice, she can tell he’s baiting her, that there’s a grin on his face and he’s waiting. 

She decides to take it,  _ “And what’s that?”  _ she takes another spoonful of peanut butter, eyes wandering out the back window to the forests, now just shifting branches against the black of the night.

_ “Soulmates,”  _ It was the first time either of them had used the word, and it makes her stomach churn, _ “I’m sure that you realized it, even if you don’t want to admit it.” _

Anger wells up within her, that he could think after all they had done, that a single word would change anything, least of all between them,  _ “Let me be perfectly clear, John Seed. I could not and will not ever consider you such.” _ She slammed her spoon down onto the counter, the metallic sound echoing through the tiny home,  _ “You’ve destroyed my home, killed my friends and loved ones and left this whole county to burn if we don’t abdicate to your zealous religious tenets and no -- whatever this is -- will ever let me forgive you for all of that.” _

 

* * *

 

It was as if a door slammed in his mind -- her words, her presence vanishing in an instant. His hands slammed down on the metal table in his room and a string of profanity followed. That wasn’t how that was supposed to go. He was supposed to reach out, find a genuine connection between them again, but this time, something tangible. He knows who she is, and had hoped that maybe he could cross some of the boundary that the two of them had put up as adversaries. But… she had to bring up Joseph. Had to point out his failure. And with it, anger followed. 

John wanted to pace again -- to get rid of some of this restless energy that seemed to percolate to the surface whenever something involved her. She was infuriating, impossible and so much like him, knowing exactly what to say to twist the knife to get the right amount of emotion out of someone. He just… wanted to be enough. For his family, for the Project, for the voice in his head -- for her. And it seemed like none of it was enough. Shoving the chair out from underneath him he’s standing and pacing, staccato steps against the hard concrete. There had to be more, something he was missing. 

He had to piece all of the information he had together. To form a whole and complete picture of the obstacles he faced. There’s Fall’s End -- The Pastor and Mary May, The Rye’s -- who he had learned, were the reason that  _ Bridget _ had taken his home, the deputy herself and her merry band of misfits -- an older man, who his men hadn’t been able to identify and Sharky Boshaw had been her most recent companions. This resistance hasn’t tried to push on his territory like they had in Jacob’s, but he’s certain now that it’ll come in time, especially now.

_ “You’ve destroyed my home, killed my friends and loved ones and left this whole county to burn if we don’t abdicate to your zealous religious tenets and no -- whatever this is -- will ever let me forgive you for all of that.” _

The words echoed in his mind, and he knew, if roles were reversed, the first thing he’d do is show her that he held power. That he wouldn’t bend to her, that he’d fight for what he believed in and those he cared about. Then his mind continued to wander… Has she told anyone of this connection they share? Joseph knows, but he’s the only one. Would she have trusted anyone else? He doesn’t think so. She would think it would make her weak. It’s why he hasn’t said anything.

It’s something he can wield over her. 

“Do what I desire, or I will tell everyone in your beloved resistance that you’ve been secretly conversing with me for months. How? We’re soulmates, of course.”

But, it would only work once, and it seemed better to hold onto that card -- to use it when he had her in front of him again, to force captivity on her by threatening those she loved and respected, not even with harm, but with losing their respect for her. It was solid, but depended on her pride. He knew her wrath, her fury, the way she looked at him at the river told him all he needed to know to see the same demons in her that he suffered with himself.

But pride… Pride’s a hard one to tack down. She could fear being waysided, of having to hand over the resistance to someone else for fear of her being compromised… or she could be ashamed. Ashamed. The word burned in his chest. Ashamed that the man she holds responsible for her lover’s death is now privy to her most intimate thoughts and emotions. He bit his cheek, he hated her for it, because he knows it’s the truth. It’s why he hasn’t told Jacob. Or Faith. He can hear their mockery now.

Restless energy subsiding John realizes just how exhausted he is -- he hadn’t slept since the botched capture of the deputy, and after tonight, it’s definitely what he needs. As he closes his eyes, he hopes not to be greeted by nightmares. Of twisted flaming metal and anger in his chest. Or of death, of seeing a man turn to a corpse before his very eyes. Instead, when he closes his eyes he’s greeted only by the blackness that swallows his consciousness. 

Back in a small cabin at the edge of the woods, Deputy Bridget Campion instead falls asleep after screaming and crying herself hoarse -- arms wrapped around a pillow with a fading scent she’d never smell again. Instead of black, she’s greeted by a song, the same song that echoed in her head for weeks and in her dreams she sees the white tiles of a kitchen floor which are much too close to the ground and all the fear that a child feels at the threat of punishment. She does not get a good night’s sleep.

Instead, she grabs another beer and sits on the railing of her front porch, praying for the sun to rise.


End file.
